HR 2H Tyrin's Tale
by slytherinsal
Summary: book 2 H in my AU following Dragonchoice. Tyrin discovers that he has a calling that takes him away from the Weyr. 9th Pass 5-22-2519 to 9-01-2521
1. Chapter 1

_Sorry I can't use the paragraph breaks I did have, they don't translate, try to imagine rows of either scrolls of music or lap harps which would be at about 40-point size. This isn't hugely long after Dragondrums in canon and runs from 5-22-2519 to 9-01-2521_

_I do not own Pern, or any of Anne McCafferey's characters, I'm only playing with them._

**Chapter 1 A New Harper Apprentice**

It was all rather overwhelming. Tyrin knew exactly what he wanted to do with his life; but right now he was not too sure that life knew what it was doing with him!

hHhHh

Tyrin reflected on the events of the past few days. First had been the fearful news of T'lan, dear as a sister to him, badly hurt and taken to the Healer Hall where she had birthed twins prematurely; and R'gar, his foster father had taken him to see her there. Not allowed in by the fussy Faylina, he had wandered disconsolately about outside until he had conceived the happy notion of how to show T'lan how pleased he was for her about the babies. Besides it would amuse Sagarra, who WOULD tag along if he wrote a lullaby for them. So, he had cut reeds from the river to make some pipes and played the tune that was bursting out of his head. Sagarra had been delighted; but the stocky man who came up with a face like thunder evidently did not agree.

"What are you doing out of class, boy?" He had asked coldly. Tyrin had only been able to stare at him, managing a stuttered,

"S-sir?"

"Whose class are you supposed to be in? And who is that child?"

"I'll not have you frighten my sister!" blurted Tyrin. "And I'm not supposed to be anywhere sir. I thought we were far enough away for my fiddling to disturb anyone. I'm sorry if it did."

The man's face had lost some of its ire.

"You have time off for a family visit? Why did you not say so lad? Whose apprentice are you – surely I've not seen you before. And what tune was that?"

Tyrin put his chin up.

"Sir, I'm no-one's apprentice. I'm visiting while my foster mother is ill. And I wrote the tune for her and the babies. It's not a stolen one!"

"You wrote it?" the stocky man seemed suddenly intent. "Show me your pipes." He held out an imperious hand and Tyrin found himself giving him the pipes. They were minutely examined. The man asked, "When did you make these?"

"Just now, sir. From river reeds, just to try the tune out."

"How did you pitch them?"

Tyrin looked surprised.

"Just by ear, sir. How else can you?"

"Just by ear, the boy says. And he's nobody's apprentice. Boy, WHY are you nobody's apprentice?"

Tyrin looked down his nose.

"I never had the opportunity to. And my name is Tyrin, sir, not Boy."

The man roared with laughter.

"And my name, Tyrin, is Master Domick. And I think you should stop being nobody's apprentice and show these pipes to Master Jerint. Have you had any training in musical theory or tuition in anything but pipes?"

Tyrin burned.

"Master Domick, I have had no tuition in anything, theory or otherwise. I just taught myself to play the pipes because I had to have music."

Domick looked angry again.

"Whatever were your parents thinking of?"

"Feeding us while they died, sir." Said Tyrin quietly. "Now I have foster parents and they're good ones. They don't stop me playing like some folks as took us in used to. But why should it occur to them to apprentice me? I'm a weyrling now, and a candidate. I don't want to let them down."

Domick pointed dramatically at the boy.

"Boy – Tyrin – it would be a crime if you wasted perfect pitch on dragons. I suppose you're with that little Weyrwoman Faylina was so sure would die. Faugh, as if dragonfolk aren't too stubborn for that. But I tell you, they MUST be persuaded to let you be apprenticed. Although" he glared at Tyrin "It will be hard work. Harder for you than those who have been prepared for an apprenticeship. But your talents for pretty tunes needs to be encouraged – if that wasn't a one off."

Tyrin flushed again.

"No, master, I have others."

"Play them."

"Now, sir?"

"Of COURSE now!"

Nervously Tyrin licked his lips and launched into a jaunty tune he had written to celebrate his sister Sh'rilla's Impression, letting the pipes cry as the emotion of the pure joy of the moment was expressed in his tune. Domick listened and blinked.

"More." He said. Tyrin worked through every tune he had ever written; his lips were sore by the end. Finally Domick said,

"One day I will teach you to harmonise those as they could deserve. You do not know how to write them down?"

Tyrin shook his head, and the master frowned.

"With your permission I will transcribe them, in case anything happens to prevent you from doing so when you have learned how from Master Morshall."

Tyrin gulped and nodded. This was an honour indeed! The master added,

"They are rough, lad – very rough, as is hardly surprising if you've no training. In a few months when you can read them back, you will be embarrassed. Therefore, at that time, you will improve upon them. You are good raw material"

"Yes, sir, if you say so." Tyrin was exhausted by his ordeal and could do little but be carried along by Master Domick's ebullient personality.

Sagarra provided an interruption, making Tyrin jump; he had forgotten that she was there.

"Master Domick, you might be very important, but I'll not let you bully Tyrin if he doesn't want to be apprenticed, and my father won't let you upset him either. We LOVE Tyrin and we'll do anything for him!" she stamped her little foot firmly.

"I see you have a most fierce partisan." Domick remarked dryly to Tyrin.

"My family is very close, sir." Tyrin was not going to apologise. The little girl had guts, and she really did love him! He was close to tears of emotion. "But I would like to be an apprentice at the Harper Hall, even though I know I will have to work harder than the others to catch up."

Domick grunted something that sounded like 'in some things anyway' and had hustled the boy off to meet master Jerint, dismissing Sagarra adroitly enough to earn grudging admiration from Tyrin!

hHhHh

Jerint, the Master Instrument Crafter, had been contemptuous at first of the pipes.

"These are not even cured!" he sniffed.

"Ah, but Jerint, the lad only made these to try a tune out. I don't know if he always 'just makes' his pipes – but he's had not training at all. I thought you could do something with him. He tunes by ear." He added blandly.

Jerint had tried the pipes himself.

"Well, boy, do you know how to season them?"

"No, sir. There are always plenty of reeds, and enough choice to get a choice of tone."

Jerint threw up his hands.

"I shall teach you." He said. "Now, can you assemble a drum?"

Tyrin hung his head.

"Not properly." He whispered. "I've made drums – but I had to figure out how to stretch the skins I could get. And I didn't dare stretch them too much because only damaged ones were available. But I have had quite good results with cloth soaked in glue instead of skins."

Master Jerint looked intent.

"How do you stretch them?"

"Wet if skins so they shrink on – and I use wet thong to bind them on."

Jerint shuddered.

"You will have proper materials here – even if not of the best quality for apprentices. Though I should like to do some experiments with your surrogate hide when applied with proper oiled cord and metal clips."

After adroit questioning, Tyrin found himself telling the Master about his makeshift instruments, which elicited a grunt and a shudder but a request to demonstrate. Tyrin did so, nervous of showing his rude music to such an illustrious man, but he was not chided. In fact Jerint said,

"Although you will never make such things again, you will apply the same industry and ear to making proper instruments. You might then aspire to work at being an instrument crafter."

hHhHh

So now Tyrin was an apprentice. He had discussed it with R'gar and T'lan, afraid that they would be disappointed in him as they had taken him first to the Weyr as a candidate. He had not needed to worry; they were such GOOD people to him! Tyrin intended to work as hard as he could to make his new family proud of him in his chosen field. He was to be a general apprentice for the time being, but he was hoping that his tunes would, if he worked on them, impress Master Domick enough to take him as a personal apprentice. Of course it would be an honour if he pleased Master Jerint enough by learning the proper means of construction of instruments to be an apprentice of his; and he liked the Master well enough. However, Tyrin knew that what he wanted to do was write music – and nobody could teach him more than Master Domick about that, or so he had heard.

hHhHh

Meantime, Tyrin had to move in with the other apprentices. There was a dormitory with free spaces, mostly occupied by boys a year or two younger than him. Tyrin realised they were probably way more knowledgeable than he, and resolved to keep himself to himself until he had caught up. However, the lads were all getting ready for bed when he was shown in to the room; and seven pairs of eyes promised a barrage of questions as soon as the kindly brusque Silvina had withdrawn.

The barrage was duly forthcoming. One of the lads, a brown haired, brown tanned boy who seemed to be something of a leader, declared,

"Well! We never expected that bed would be filled! Hey, fellows, you'd better find room for your stuff in your own presses so our newcomer has room for his duds!" he grinned engagingly at Tyrin. "So, tell us about yourself! You're no taller than me, so I guess you're about eleven or twelve turns?"

Tyrin swallowed. He was at least used to weyrlings now, so groups of youngsters did not bother him as such; but his late entrance embarrassed him.

"I'm a bit older than usual." He tried to sound nonchalant about it in case there were any here who would make a big thing of it. "There were reasons I did not enter a craft at the proper age. I'm actually going on thirteen."

He sensed a certain amount of wariness from the boys, and one in particular wore an expression of dismay mixed with fear. The brown lad said cheerfully,

"I guess you're worried the others your own age'll get at you – but don't worry! There's safety in numbers. And we won't tell."

Tyrin grinned thanks.

"I'm Tyrin." He told them.

"Ferry." Responded the lad. "These lot are Anslas, Shoris, Stev – he's our resident genius, even Master Morshall doesn't shout much at him – Kerill, Duthi and Lisend. Say, Duthi, whaddya looking so glum about?"

The stocky boy he addressed was the one Tyrin had noted looking scared. He spoke up.

"HE don't need reassuring, Ferry. More'n likely he'll try an' throw his weight around an' get the big boys to help him."

Ferry snorted and Tyrin scowled.

"I've had enough trouble of my own earlier in my life to want to be handing it out." He sad quietly. "All I want is to be a Harper. And if you fellows hang together against bullies, I'd be glad to be a part of the team – I may not be big, but I'm handy in a scrap."

Ferry slapped him on the back.

"Are my instincts ever wrong? I mean, are they?" He asked challengingly.

"I'd be grateful" Tyrin said carefully "If you'd help me catch up over the next sevenday or two. I'm woefully behind in theory particularly."

There were good natured shouts of agreement; and Tyrin thanked fortune that he had landed in what seemed to be a friendly dormitory. It could so easily happened that he had been put with boys who chose to make his life a misery just because he was different. They even helped him pack away his clothes, exclaiming enviously over his wherhide jacket. Without thinking, Tyrin said,

"Well, it's the only practical thing to wear dragonback."

They all stared at him and he flushed.

"You've flown dragonback?" Red haired Kerill asked, awed.

"Well… yes…" Tyrin managed.

"Don't leave it like that! When? What was it like? How come? Tell us!" demanded Ferry.

"I don't want you to think I'm sounding off." Muttered Tyrin. He knew well enough that envy could make people hate you; he'd envied himself before R'gar and T'lana had swept up his sister and him, and he had since had to put up with some pointed comments about being the privileged son of the Weyrlingmaster Bronze rider. Even though R'gar DID work him twice as hard as anyone else.

Kerill grinned.

"Sounding off? Anything but, if we have to prise information out of you with a crowbar! Now, spill it all – we're agog!"

Tyrin couldn't help grinning at the comical face the boy was pulling.

"I'm sort of weyrbred." He said.

"Sort of? And why are you here when you could be a candidate? Kerill said spill it all, not half-measure!" Ferry shook a teasing fist, and Tyrin smiled ruefully.

"My sister and I were orphans. We were taken on search, and fostered in the Weyr – High Reaches Weyr – about half a turn ago. She Impressed Daenilth and I didn't Impress, and when my foster mother was landed in here by – by having an accident" – T'lan had forbidden him to call Lirilly down despite the other girl having flamed T'lan, so as not to give the impression that Queenriders fought – "I came with my foster sister to visit. I've always wanted to make music, and when I was offered the chance of an apprenticeship, and my parents didn't mind, I jumped at it."

The small, blonde boy introduced as the resident genius nodded.

"If it's in your bones you have to do it." He said softly, and Tyrin threw him a grateful glance. Ferry said,

"So you get to flit around all over the place dragonback?" his tone was frankly envious.

"Not exactly – and the novelty has never worn off – but I do go on dragons quite a lot. Did, rather."

"So your foster mother is that little bit thing Queenrider that everyone says is too young to have babies that the other Queenrider flamed?" asked Kerill all in one breath. Tyrin laughed.

"She's very tiny – and she's not very old, but she's old enough. Why she's been fostering Sagarra any time these past two turns! And you mustn't say that Lirilly flamed her, you know – accidents do happen. My foster father was accidentally flamed by his friend's dragon. Patchy Thread can play havoc with formations!"

"Sorry!" apologised Kerill. "It's only what I heard – some people are saying it was done on purpose."

"Does it seem likely?" Tyrin tried to sound scornful, mindful of the need to preserve the reputation of the Weyrs.

"I guess not." Kerill shrugged. "I'd not really thought about it. So your foster father is a Bronze rider?"

"He doesn't often fly Thread now – because of having a blind side. He's the weyrlingmaster." Tyrin felt a need to downplay the immense pride he had in his foster father, but could not conceal it from his face. Ferry thumped his arm lightly.

"You're a lucky one." He said. "And not just because your father's a dragonman. There's some around who'd give anything to feel about their old man you do." He glanced across at the neat figure of the boy Shoris, about the same height as Stev and even blonder; but where Stev's hair stood cheerfully on end, Shoris's was still as slick as if he had just combed it. Shoris shrugged.

"Leave my father out of it Ferry." His voice was sudden liquid gold, and Tyrin gasped. Ferry said,

"Yes, you'd not think he was Seahold bred would you? Journeyman Menolly found him before he'd ruined his voice shouting against gales and brought him here without a blessing from his kin."

Shoris shrugged again.

"I'm where I want to be." He said quietly. "And if my brothers and parents don't understand why, that's their problem. So if people from the Weyr don't understand why you're here Tyrin, just tell them where to stick it!"

The Seahold coarseness of his final remark in that golden voice brought a bubble of mirth bursting from Tyrin's lips as he tapped Shoris on the arm to show he meant no offence. Shoris grinned; and Tyrin knew that this was a trick he played on purpose! Shells, he was going to be happy here!

hHhHh

Next day, Tyrin thought he could change his mind about being happy. Master Morshall's class was the most embarrassing experience he had ever had – but he was not the only boy that the sallow, ill tempered Master humiliated. Some of the other lads seemed close to tears, and Tyrin swore a silent oath to learn so fast that he would show this supercilious man. He blessed his near perfect memory, for it would soon enable him to catch up. In fact the lessons they were learning, whilst difficult at first seemed quite logical. Rather like the drum messages. T'lan had already evinced the opinion that there was a logic to drum messages and wondered whether she could work it out; and Tyrin was playing a private game with himself to try to work them out as quickly as she! Certainly it would be helped by the theory of how to write drum measures – he could keep a note of the beats and see what happened as a response. Of course when he had learned a few drum measures as well, as part of his education as an apprentice, it would give him an advantage. Which he confessed to himself he needed, since his grasp of Boolean charts was definitely imperfect! He had studied some mathematics with T'lan's encouragement, using the book she had found deep in Nabol Hold, and had enjoyed it. There was a certain rhythm to the behaviour of numbers that was almost musical in its construction.

hHhHh

Tyrin was disappointed to find that he would not have any lessons yet with Master Domick; of course he would have to learn a lot more theory before it was worth studying composition with him, but Tyrin had taken a liking to the rather mercurially tempered Master. The man had no airs, and told you things straight – and Tyrin liked that. It was what he did not like about Master Morshall – that he never praised, even obliquely no matter how well a lesson was recited. Master Jerint was another master who met with the lad's approval, though he was a stern task master. Tyrin wanted to learn; and was prepared to work for what he wanted. It did not earn him popularity from some of the apprentices, but he and his dormitory mates stuck together. Tyrin found it difficult to understand that there were those here who did not want to learn as much as possible, and felt a need to lark about in class. Did they not want to be Harpers? He asked Ferry. Ferry laughed.

"Them? They see Harping as a soft option over working the fields or fishing or whatever. They never realised you put just as much in only in different ways. Besides, if you're in a class you're no good at I guess you get bored and want to create a diversion. I feel like that in singing – it just HURTS so having to breathe right. But Shoris enjoys that – so I'd be rude to lark. 'Course, we all play up Bruddie at times – Journeyman Brudegan, that is, because he takes himself so serious."

Tyrin nodded. He could see that Harping might be perceived to be easy by Holderfolk; and he also took Ferry's point about boredom. He found everything so new and exciting himself he had never stopped to consider that it could become routine.

hHhHh

It scarcely seemed as though Tyrin had only been an apprentice for two days when Thread fell. Some of the boys reacted very nervously, and Tyrin was amazed. After all they were inside – in Master Jerint's workshop – and in no danger. He allowed himself a wry grin at the thought of T'lan's reactions. The little Weyrwoman hated being confined and would be fretting to be out fighting Thread. Tyrin understood; having lived Holdless with Sh'rilla the shutters irritated him somewhat.

It was halfway through the class that a little green firelizard suddenly appeared in the workshop, trilling agitatedly to Master Jerint and broadcasting pictures of two girls out in fall, hurt, in the Arch. One of them had flaming red hair.

"T'LAN!" cried Tyrin, and bolted to the door, unbarring it and lugging it open. With a startled exclamation, Ferry joined him to help, heedless of Master Jerint's protest.

Leaning against the door were T'lan and Lirilly, T'lan's arm stinking of fresh burn.

"Talana! T'lan!" Tyrin cried frantically.

"Shut that fardling door!" her voice was weak.

"When you're inside!" he gingerly slipped an arm under hers, wondering what Lirilly had done now, glowering at the girl as she took the other side. Talana said,

"I can manage!" as they helped her to her feet; then she went limp and subsided onto the ground at Tyrin's feet.

"Help me someone!" he called: and willing hands helped him to get the light weight of Talana inside and close the door.

"Well, well, our little Queenrider – what has happened her?" Jerint was concerned.

"I don't know Master – but it looks serious." Tyrin said, casting a fulminating glance at Lirilly. The girl cringed.

"I forgot it was Fall. There – there was a Thread in her arm. She had a brand – I had to b-burn it…." She retched, a dry, empty sound. "She will be all right, won't she?"

Tyrin bit back a sharp retort. T'lan had made him promise. There MUST not be rumour of Queenriders fighting.

"Why don't you run for Master Oldive, Lirilly?" he suggested. "The rest of us can rig a stretcher and carry her through the workshop and the apprentice dormitories and back to the infirmary that way."

Lirilly nodded and ran off. Ferry looked at Tyrin with awe.

"You order Queenriders around?" he murmured. Tyrin flushed uncomfortably.

"Didn't matter who she was. She was upset – needed a job. Got her out of the way. Females I'm not related to make me uncomfortable."

Ferry nodded.

"Just hope everyone forgets it – or don't realise who she is. Me, I know because I've run a message to the Queenswing once when they stopped off here to check something out. Don't she look dreadful?"

Tyrin nodded in agreement as well as acknowledgement. Lirilly's appearance had shocked him – the normally immaculate hair was matted and wild, and her cheeks were sunken and pallid. Maybe she was suffering remorse for what she had done. She certainly deserved to! And now this – foolish woman! He schooled his face so as not to show his feelings, and firmly escorted his foster mother through to the infirmary.

hHhHh

Tyrin haunted the infirmary, walking up and down the corridor outside her room. He neither knew, nor cared, if he had been excused class for family illness, though he had written a note requesting permission for absence. When Lirilly took to hanging around too, he said rudely,

"That's twice you've almost killed T'lan – you looking for a third way?"

The girl flushed and bit her lip. Just then R'gar came out, and she grabbed his arm. Tyrin walked away, unable to trust himself. He waited for R'gar and threw himself on his foster father as though he were just a child.

"Whoa, son, don't knock me down." R'gar held him by the shoulders; it was vaguely comforting.

"That BITCH!" said Tyrin bitterly. R'gar nodded.

"But it might just make her grow up, you know." He said quietly. "I was talking to T'lan before this incident happened – and she said that she thought Lirilly behaved like she does because she feels somehow inadequate. You know, Tyrin, I back our T'lan to find out what's addling her yolk and put it right. And you'll have to smile and live with it – and learn to forgive. Yes, I know it will be hard" as Tyrin pulled a face "But better to grin and bear it and have two live Queens and their riders than have another Kylara incident."

Tyrin thought about this and nodded. The thought of T'lana dying made his insides feel hollow; he'd lost too many people he loved to even want to think about losing another. He realised, ashamed, that a tear was trickling down his nose, and wiped it away crossly. R'gar put an arm around him and led him away.

"Come and drink a glass of Benden Red with me." He suggested "- while T'lan works her magic on that silly girl. She'll be all right you know – though she's going to have a scar for life. And then you'd better get back to your classes. I've secured permission for you to sleep here for a couple of days, but your dispensation to skip lessons runs out first thing in the morning."

"Thank you father." Tyrin was grateful. "What about Mirrith?"

"That's what T'lan said. I told her I'd ask you to oil her if you'd time, and then you can tell her how Mirrith is yourself tomorrow."

Tyrin grasped R'gar's hand in gratitude; and with a glance at the light declared that there was time to oil her this evening so long as he had help!

hHhHh

Ferry and the others were expectant and trying to be tactful when Tyrin came in; and he reassured them at once.

"She's going to be all right, and she asks do we mind oiling Mirrith for her?" he said.

"MIND?" exclaimed Kerill.

"I should say not!" Ferry's eyes gleamed.

"A real Golden Dragon?" whispered Lisend, the quiet one.

"She trusts us?" Anslas asked solemnly

"We'll get into trouble." Duthi sounded mournful but his face was glowing

"Who CARES!" Stev declared

"Where do we get the oil?" Ferry wanted to know.

Tyrin shrugged.

"Silvina I guess. It's a legitimate use – we can't get into trouble for it. We've been asked to do a chore by dragonfolk." He grinned.

hHhHh

Mirrith was glad of an oiling now she had stopped worrying about T'lan and stretched luxuriantly. Strangely it was Ferry who displayed nervousness of her as well as Lisend. Tyrin was privately of the opinion that Lisend was the type bullies pick on – he was inclined to get easily upset and seemed to miss his home very much. Tyrin felt that he needed to get on well with Mirrith to encourage him to turn to dragons for aid.

"She sure is big, isn't she?" he said, affecting not to notice that two of the boys hung back. "I was quite scared the first time I saw her – but it was too late to go back on agreeing to ride her to the Weyr then! But she's very kind, aren't you Mirrith dear?"

Mirrith informed all the boys that she might be kind mostly but not until someone had been kind to her first and scratched her itches. Tyrin laughed and complied. Warily Ferry and Lisend approached her, not wanting to lose face; and soon were making a lovely mess with the oil alongside the others. Tyrin grinned. It was going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay – even Master Morshall's classes!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 Plans to Deal with Bullies**

It was not to be expected that Tyrin and his friends would escape notice over oiling Mirrith; and envious comments were made in the eating hall. A journeyman had stopped them on the way in and asked rather sharply what they were doing over by the Queen dragon; and Ferry had replied smartly,

"Sir, we were told off to oil her by that fierce looking Bronze rider with one eye. We were available, sir."

The journeyman grunted and adjured them to be sure and have studied their lessons for the morrow, since Master Morshall would not take kindly to them being ignorant through gallivanting off with dragons. They had chorused affirmation; and could do so with clean consciences, for they had tested each other whilst oiling the friendly Queen. Tyrin said,

"Whew! That was smart, Ferry! R'gar looks a lot fiercer than he is, and not many people will cross him."

Ferry grinned.

"I thought we could rely on that." He said. "Besides, he did tell you, didn't he?"

"No – he asked if I minded. He's almost always exquisitely courteous to weyrlings, even when he's chewing them out. He just makes you squirm by what he doesn't say!" Tyrin added with a chuckle. "You don't get any of this 'here boy, do this, do that' at the Weyr – but if you fail, you feel such a heel because folk'd be disappointed in you."

Lisend spoke up.

"Yes, it's what gets me here. My family are cotholders and it's hard being treated like – like an ungulate!"

Tyrin laughed kindly.

"I guess there are so many people here they can't afford to be too lax in discipline." He said. "There'd be those who'd abuse it – and as we're away from parents and family, there's no one to make us feel ashamed. At least" he amended "I've got mine here right now, but that's only temporary. And I'd wish it didn't have to be so, for it means that T'lana's not well, and the babies are so small…" he pulled a face. "I sound a right blubberer, don't I?"

His friends quickly disclaimed and thumped him about the shoulders. They walked into the hall together, prepared for the inevitable snide comments from the other apprentices and met the envy of the others with an air of bland superiority.

oOoOo

Master Morshall was predictably sour the next day, but could find no fault in the way the boys had learned their lesson. One or two of the other boys did their best to make them make fools of themselves by whispering wrong answers and trying to distract them with thrown mud pellets. Lisend stuttered his way through his lesson but Tyrin prevented one of the spite-mongers from distracting him by reaching surreptitiously over and pricking the boy gently with his cloak pin.

"Just try it." He murmured genially. The boy shot him a fulminating look. Tyrin smiled, blandly, and the boy shrugged away, sullenly.

There were three of them, Tyrin reckoned. They were all bigger than any of his dormitory mates, and commanded a following from others on whom they imposed their will. However if those three could be dealt with, there would be no more problems – at least with this class. Tyrin was not so naïve as to think that there would be no more problems with even bigger lads, but it was time to meet problems when they arrived. For the time being it was just needful to study the three immediate problems and figure out strategies.

The leader seemed to be a large fat boy with a querulous face, called Horgey. His cronies were Dwinn, the boy that Tyrin had leaned on and a muscular, lean boy named Hillas. He was a possible danger – Ferry had already imparted the knowledge that he had an older brother, Ellax, who was a journeyman. Ellax was apparently a man to stay out of the way of – unfair and spiteful in his discipline.

Tyrin communicated his thoughts to the others after class while they were engaged upon their section's chores.

"What exactly do you mean by totally dealing with them?" Asked Ferry.

"We either need to make them suffer more than they can make us suffer; or make them a total laughing stock. With the first, we get left alone because it's not worth their while. The second is better, 'cos it means their toadies won't toady any more and they'll have to leave everyone alone."

Ferry nodded.

Duthi put in gloomily,

"It'll never work, and we'll only catch it worse from them."

"Nonsense!" Declared Kerill, his eyes bright with mischief. "Tyrin's right. Jus' sticking together like we always have is all very well, but sometimes we get separated and then you know how we catch it! We have to – to take the offensive."

"And boy can you be truly offensive!" Grinned Ferry.

A brief pummelling match ensued which was broken up by the duty journeyman by raining impartial blows upon both boys and sending them scurrying on errands.

oOoOo

Later in free time, Tyrin expanded on the theme as he took his friends down to the river to gather reeds.

"We have to discover their weaknesses." He told them. "Horgey seems pretty greedy. Does he take food from others – treat stuff like bubbly pies?"

"You better believe it!" It was Anslas who spoke up. He was a cautious, hard-working boy who had been treating Tyrin with some circumspection; he seemed now to have made up his mind to trust the older lad. He added, "Bubbly pies are his favourite. Like journeyman Piemur when he was an apprentice. Only by all accounts, Piemur just used to scrounge; Horgey demands. See, we get two each – and he makes us hand over one of them. Unless you're one of the ones he can really pick on when he takes both. Sometimes he shares them with the other two, but mostly he pigs himself."

"How interesting." Grinned Tyrin. "That gives me some ideas straight away. Now what about Dwinn?"

"He's just plain mean." Responded Shoris. "He's a bit of a hypochondriac, though, and he tries to use sickness to skive off. And if anyone is ill, he either has the symptoms or has had it himself far worse. When he's pretending to be ill but unable to con Faylina he gets us to run around after him and fetch and carry. Say, Tyrin, why are we collecting these fardling reeds? It's time off – and you're getting us to do work!"

Tyrin grinned.

"If we're not popular anyway, we might as well shame the lazies by being good. To be good we need extra copying material. I've been here long enough to hear a rumour that Master Arnor isn't generous with his hides" - hoots of concurring derision met this litotic statement – "and I figured a way of making something to write on when I was a kid. It's rough, but serviceable."

Tyrin showed the boys how to strip the pith from the reeds, soak it and lay the strips so that one layer went one way and one the other.

"My real father was a weaver." He told them. "It sort of gave me the idea. Now we bang it with a round stone to compress it down – and then let it dry in the sun. With luck, it'll be at least partly dry before we have to be in."

The boys grumbled gently about working on a rest time, but helped out with a will. Having private writing supplies was a novel and attractive idea!

"What about ink?" Asked Stev.

"I've never made very good ink" admitted Tyrin "Though I came close when I had access to some of the dyeing materials. Mostly I used charcoal – so we need to gather short straight sticks and burn 'em covered so they char slow. That works on stone or hide or – or – 'most anything!"

oOoOo

Anslas returned to the problem in hand.

"We might be able to deal with Horgey and Dwinn – but what about Hillas? With a journeyman for a brother he can have us punished – and no one'd take our word against a journeyman's."

"Yes, it's going to be difficult." Admitted Tyrin. "I guess the only thing to do is to discredit Ellax – then he can't stand by his brother."

There were gasps at this. The idea of discrediting a journeyman was shocking in its enormity; but Ferry nodded, slowly.

"It's not as though" he said "That he behaves like a proper journeyman. I mean, he just gets kicks from hurting boys, and that's not proper, is it?"

There was tentative agreement. Tyrin said,

"A journeyman deserves respect for his accomplishments and Ellax sure can drum, but he's supposed to teach us the rudiments too as part of his duties. And it's no good asking a question if you don't understand, because he just beats you for not understanding. That's not teaching. But listen!" He grinned at them. "T'lan is so bored confined in the Infirmary, she's been teaching herself the drum measures – and she showed me a way of tabulating them so we can work out ones we don't know because they run in logical sequence!"

He scratched in the dry ground to demonstrate what he meant.

"See, if we can get so far ahead by using this, we can maybe even learn more than Ellax – and then we're laughing!"

Most of the boys were nodding thoughtfully, though Duthi was inclined to look mulish about the whole thing.

"It'll never work." He repeated stubbornly.

"Don't be such a grumble-guts." Anslas told him. "We can make it work. I think Tyrin is onto something great here. I'm glad you were put with us, Tyrin."

Tyrin flushed, pleased.

"I'm real glad too." He said. "I was prepared for a bad time in a dormitory. You fellows are good people."

Of course, such a display of emotion had to be followed by a playful blow aimed at Anslas which degenerated into a general friendly brawl.

oOoOo

The next day lessons were disrupted by Threadfall; and Tyrin dragged his friends in to keep a watch out so that T'lan and L'rilly – as T'lan had dubbed her now they appeared to have made friends – could slip out to work with the ground crews. Tyrin had to concede that L'rilly had been behaving better, and wanting to fight Thread even in her weakened condition through starving herself showed some proper feeling. Anyway, T'lan seemed to be on good terms with the girl; and anything T'lan did was all right with Tyrin!

oOoOo

It was only much later that the rumours started to filter through of the extraordinary events after Threadfall; and Tyrin managed to get to see T'lan and get the whole story of how a greedy Healer had found that a certain spoiled batch of fellis had hallucinogenic side effects – and had secretly made more and sold it to some of the spoilt brats at the Hold! T'lan asked Tyrin to get what news he could of the villainous Wenner, but he regretfully had to report that no one had more news than that he was seen leaving furtively. However, he did organise his friends into keeping a watch on all that went on; T'lan always liked to be well informed and Tyrin prided himself on his powers of observation and quick wits. They practised their drum measures in sending messages to each other, the normally tedious work becoming fun for the use it was put to. The usual measures taught to all apprentices were "Threadfall", "Fire", "Death", "Answer", Question", "Help", "Affirmative", "Negative" and, as they progressed, the measures for major Craftmasters and a few short, useful phrases. It was the phrases that Tyrin was particularly interested in, for if allied with longer ones, a degree of accurate guesswork could be used, especially in conjunction with actions taken by senior Harpers!

It did not occur to the boys that those who knew the drum measures saw their games and watched with some amusement as they sent often roundabout messages to get their point across! Most of those who noticed what the apprentices were up to were however such people as Silvina, who kept their mouths shut; and watched carefully.

oOoOo

It was of course a matter of interest when a Blue dragon swooped in to land beside Mirrith and a man who looked remarkably like R'gar descended. Tyrin was unable to get away straight off and chafed with curiosity, especially as the little dragon seemed to be on excellent terms with Mirrith. This must be R'cal, of whom Tyrin had heard, but never met. Although R'cal had come from his post at Tillek to take T'lan to investigate a disappearance there since Tyrin had come to the Weyr, he had not been around to meet the man. What information he had picked up was that he was dour, and best avoided! However, Tyrin had heard similar of his foster father, and was prepared to reserve judgement.

Their first meeting was inauspicious. R'cal looked at the boy and said,

"Ha – hum – errumph."

Tyrin stiffened and with drew the hand he had extended. R'cal muttered something about Camnath, and left, abruptly.

Tyrin scowled after him; and T'lan said,

"Dear one, don't be cross with him. He's still got to come to terms with being friendly to his son, never mind grandchildren."

"What do you mean?"

"R'gar's mother died birthing him. To R'cal, R'gar always looked so much like her that it hurt him to have him around. He's missed all the things fathers do with sons, and I bet he's jealous that R'gar's got you. He's worth getting to know – and maybe you can help him make up for the lost time by letting him learn to be a grandfather."

Tyrin made sceptical noises; but promised to try. Sagarra seemed to be keen to drag her grandfather around the place to meet such of her disparate friends as Camo and Silvina and Menolly's firelizards. But a little girl – even such a nice one as Sagarra – could not be as interesting a companion as a boy, and one moreover who was old enough to be fairly capable. Tyrin sought out R'cal in the evening. R'cal did not look displeased, and opened the conversation with a,

"Ah – Tyrin – ah… good to see you."

Tyrin grinned.

"It's all right, sir, I don't have any feelings to speak of to get hurt, so you can tell me to get lost if you want."

"Cheeky brat." Growled R'cal, secretly admiring the boy's gall in taking the wind from his sails. "I was surprised to find that R'gar had fostered anyone particularly. I thought he had a thing about impartiality."

"And doesn't he!" Agreed Tyrin emphatically. "He's so impartial I do twice as much as any of the others. Did, rather."

R'cal laughed; and the ice was broken.

"So you ran away to the Harper Hall then?" He asked genially.

Tyrin grinned again.

"He's so understanding – not minding that I'd rather be a Harper than a dragonrider. He and T'lan have done so much for me. Not least" he added "Making me feel like I count as a person. And what they've done for Sh'rilla is just amazing." He sighed happily. "It's so good to be back in a family."

"Hrr – umph." R'cal cleared his throat. "Babies are dinky, aren't they?"

"They're wonderful!" agreed Tyrin. "I had twin brothers before – but they died of the sickness. Now I'm big, I can do more to make sure nothing happens to Rogan and Rofel."

R'cal put an awkward hand on Tyrin's shoulder.

"It is nice to have an instant family. Ha – er – umph!" He finished. "Why don't you come and meet Camnath?"

R'cal asked Tyrin shrewd questions about how he was getting on; and Tyrin decided to confide in him about the bullies.

"I don't want to tell R'gar" he said, "Because I don't want to worry him. Only, do you think I'm taking the right path?"

"Undoubtedly." The Blue rider agreed with him. "Making them foolish is a far more powerful weapon than any other. And if you write tunes, why not write scurrilous verses about them? Or, better, set them to popular tunes so no one need know who wrote them. I imagine different song writers have different styles same as with any craft that Masters can pick out."

Tyrin nodded, looking thoughtful.

"And I've other skills as well." He mused. "Copying all those Dragonhealer scrolls for R'gar…say, when you treat a tail-thickened dragon, does the same seed have the same effect on humans?"

R'cal roared with laughter.

"It certainly does lad – but be careful! No more than three seeds for a human dose, or it could be fatal."

Tyrin nodded gratefully. It was humiliation he had in mind – not murder. Without R'cal's advice he might well have overdone things!

oOoOo

It was not long before Tyrin had the opportunity to put one of his plans into action. He had noticed a certain plant growing wild, and had harvested some early seeds, which he ground roughly and kept in a small leather bag. When he smelled bubbly pies cooking, he smiled to himself. Tyrin was not the only one who was eager for lunch time; bubbly pies were always a prime favourite!

When the dessert was dished out, Tyrin surreptitiously scattered his powdered seeds onto the largest. As soon as the servingman had left, Horgey began demanding pies. Tyrin was first on his list as the newest boy.

"I don't think you ought to take my pie." Said Tyrin.

""Stow it shorty – or I might just have both! Now hand it over!"

"You'd not enjoy it – too much greed is bad for the stomach." Tyrin told him. The bully leaned over and pinched Tyrin's arm, twisting the skin as he did so. Tyrin compressed his lips, scorning to cry out.

"Changed your mind yet?" Asked Horgey. "You can get a lot more of that – anytime."

"Have it then – and I hope you're ill of overeating!" Tyrin thrust the smaller of the two pies at Horgey, who pushed it back and snatched the larger one, as Tyrin had been sure he would. "You're a big bully" Tyrin added "And one day you'll suffer for it."

Horgey laughed and bit into the big pie, holding out his hands for others.

oOoOo

Horgey was not in class next morning. Indeed, he was in the infirmary for three days with a very uncomfortable gut disorder. Tyrin celebrated quietly with his friends.

Hillas sought the boys out.

"It was your pie made Horgey ill." He accused "And I'm going to get you for it."

"But Hillas – how can it be?" asked Tyrin, simulating puzzlement. "He took the one I was trying to keep for myself, not the one I offered him. It's no good blaming me for his greed. After all, how many did he share with his friends?"

Hillas looked at him narrowly.

"Yeah, you're right." He said. "But I'm WATCHING you, see? I bet one of you squirts had something to do with it!"

He stalked off, and Ferry said,

"It was a master stroke reminding him that Horgey doesn't share! But he still suspects us."

"He can suspect all he wants – he doesn't know how it was done, and it hasn't occurred to him that I'd banked on Horgey wanting the biggest pie. For all he knows, we can make him ill too!"

oOoOo

It was rather oppressive to have Hillas – and by extension, Ellax – continually watching the boys; but they behaved scrupulously well and gave the journeyman no excuse to punish them.

"Actually" said Tyrin "It works to our advantage."

"How do you figure that?" Shoris wanted to know. He had just come from his lesson with Voicemaster Shonagar, whose special apprentice he was.

"We want Ellax to look an idiot, right – but as we're doing that by hard work not mischief, he won't suspect because we're not making him any trouble. And because he's not happy with us but can't find an excuse to punish us, you notice he's giving us extra measures to learn – ones we're not required to know. So what does that give us?"

"More to feed into the charts." Volunteered Stev.

"Right – and if anyone is outraged at us knowing too much, he's put himself in the wrong by giving us those extra lessons." Pointed out Tyrin, grinning wickedly. "And the more we frustrate him by being model pupils, the more he's going to give us to do!"

Not for the first time, Tyrin found himself being praised and thumped on the back by his friends. They had never imagined that working hard could be such fun – or at least, its consequences!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 Drum Measures**

As T'lana was out of danger, R'gar had left, taking Sagarra with him. Since Lanelly had come to the Weyr with Sagarra's half brother, he knew the little girl would be kept out of mischief despite T'lana's absence! R'gar visited occasionally but his visits were of necessity infrequent and brief. Tyrin and his friends popped in to see T'lana when they could to cheer her up – she chafed at enforced inactivity – and tell her all the news. They continued making their makeshift paper, and with suggestions from T'lan came up with a creditable ink made of soot and tree resin. It hardened into a black tablet, which had to be ground down and mixed with water, but it wrote well enough with the reed pens they made. It had the advantage over charcoal of not rubbing off, though it took a long time to dry, and they had to be careful not to smudge it. As Tyrin cheerfully remarked,

"No gain without some pain."

Kerill kicked him absently while he sucked his finger; the boy had been rather over enthusiastic in stripping his reed pen and had run a large splinter down the side of his nail. Ferry and Tyrin had held him down while Anslas cut it out; and Kerill was feeling sore in more ways than one!

hHhHh

The summer passed by too quickly; and T'lana was pronounced fit to go home. Time flew as there was so much to do during lessons, and although the boys were content to laze around for some of their precious free time, they were conscientious in pursuing their extra studies to keep a good record. Shoris and Stev, together with Tyrin, were the most scrupulous about working hard; Ferry was inclined to work very hard but in fits and starts, as was Kerill; Kerill was an expert skiver and tended to rely on his excellent memory to keep him ahead of the field. He declared it to be a natural Ruathan talent to just absorb things through the skin; Tyrin told him it was a natural Ruathan talent to tell big smelly lies. Kerill laughed lazily and agreed. Lisend worked fairly steadily but was apt to get discouraged easily, as too was the pessimistic Duthi, who declared that it made no odds, so he might as well enjoy his free time. By now, Tyrin was finding that he was pulling far ahead of most of his fellows, only Stev keeping with him in musical theory. He had even earned a grudging,

"Not bad" from Master Morshall, which came close to being high praise. Tyrin freely acknowledged that Stev was a better student than he, and certainly far above him instrumentally. Tyrin, however, had a knack, like Kerill, of remembering things easily, and was inclined to eavesdrop on the lessons of his elders. Morshall might despair of teaching him to play the gitar creditably, but he could not fault him on his ability to tune it or recite proper chords!

In point of fact, Tyrin performed far from despicably on any of the instruments he was learning. He was of course fonder of pipes than anything else, but his perfect pitch helped him to pick up almost any instrument and get a tune. This indeed got him occasionally into trouble, for he could play any tune, and would frequently do so if no master was present, with no regard to the traditional key or fingering. However, it did have – from Tyrin's point of view – the desirable side effect of being given music to copy as punishment when he was caught. One of the Journeymen, Lugal, soon noticed this; and called the boy to his room.

"What are we to do with you Tyrin?" He asked, pulling a tragicomic face.

"Sir?" Tyrin looked innocent; and Lugal snorted.

"I think I'd better make sure you have extra tuition the sooner to prepare you for an apprenticeship with Master Domick." He said. "Yes, I know it's what you're waiting for, I used to be Domick's apprentice myself. When you're under him you won't have the time or inclination to send Morshall apoplectic by playing your own variations on traditional tunes – because writing them will be one of your tasks!" He smiled grimly. "Don't look so pleased. You'll soon be sick of Moreta's ride when you've scripted half a dozen different variations on the tune to Master Domick's satisfaction!"

Tyrin thought that Lugal was a capital good chap. He was strict with the boys, but had a sense of fun, and treated high spirits as such – channelling extra energy where it would do most good for both boy and craft. And with Lugal's help he was soon able to reach and even surpass the abilities of boys his own age. He regretted not being able to work as much with his dormitory mates; but at least he was able to repay their initial kindness and help them to keep well ahead. And all of them knew more drum measures than any other apprentices not specifically apprenticed to Master Olodkey at the Drum Heights.

hHhHh

It was through the extra drum study that the boys finally had their chance to humiliate Ellax. They had been careful to display no more than average understanding, even with the extra measures Ellax had set. The journeyman continually searched for ways to humiliate these boys his brother so disliked. The three bullies had not done anything overt since Horgey had been so ill; but they had set some ill-natured rumours abroad about the habits and cleanliness of the dormitory. Fortunately they had been too wary of speaking against dragonfolk to make anything of Tyrin's visits to T'lan, or he would doubtless have forgotten all his good intentions and attacked physically and without constraint. Tyrin would brook no criticism of T'lan, even from friends. As it was, Tyrin only had to look at Horgey and rub his belly for the fat boy to pale and desist from whatever mischief he was making; and this also affected the hypochondriac Dwinn. Dwinn liked to enjoy his illnesses – and he had heard in graphic detail what had happened to Horgey! As for Hillas, he had fought Tyrin once or twice, and come out worsted; which was a humiliating state of affairs since he was a good head taller and well built. Tyrin had been on water rations more than once for fighting, and had accepted it as inevitable; especially since Hillas had been caught as well and had shared the punishment. To Tyrin, water rations were no hardship; before being taken to the Weyr he would have thought plain bread and water a fine meal indeed if there was plenty of it. No one ever went short at the Harper Hall; it was the tedium of the fare, and the obviousness that you were in disgrace that was the punishment, not a lack of necessary nourishment.

Thus it was that when a senior journeyman came to examine the class in beating the measures, Ellax thought he had his revenge. When he came to the dormitory group he called upon them to beat measures that were difficult and long and that he was sure they knew but imperfectly.

To his astonishment, they were beat perfect; and fast. Accurately they read back messages he beat for them even though he beat as fast as he could to put them off. He had left Tyrin to last; and by the time it was his turn, the journeyman was losing what shreds of temper he had left.

"Beat 'Masterhealer to field to meet Bronze dragon for transfer to Nabol for immediate assistance to epidemic victims.'" He growled, certain that there were words and phrases in that sentence that he had never taught. The visiting drum Journeyman, Rokayas, gasped and opened his mouth to protest; but Tyrin flourished his sticks impassively and beat out the roll. He had never heard the beat for 'epidemic' but it seemed reasonable that it would be based on 'disease' with elements of 'rapid spreading'. He beat his message with panache and hoped that he had the word aright. Ellax jumped down his throat as soon as he had finished.

"You got it wrong, you got it wrong, you snotty little know-it-all! That's not the beat for epidemic!"

"Excuse me, Ellax, but I think you'll find that this is an archaic beat, but acceptable. It has been shortened now for convenience, but there's not much difference." He demonstrated the beat, and Tyrin nodded, noting where it had been contracted. Ellax seethed. Rokayas added, "I note the last few boys were demonstrating beats they'd not be expected to learn unless they were drum apprentices, Ellax – and that last message was a very complex one using obscure phrasing. I'd have expected PIEMUR to have learned it quickly, but not a very junior apprentice. And I'd be very pleased to hear an archaic attempt – not leap down his throat for an inaccuracy when it was played so fast and well."

"The boy is a troublemaker, and so are his friends." Ellax made excuse. "I set them extra measures as punishment."

"Including 'epidemic'" Rokayas asked silkily.

"I – I may have done."

"You know, do you not, that inflammatory and panic words are NOT to be taught as a general practice, don't you, Ellax?" Rokayas spoke quietly so that his voice did not carry to the apprentices; but Tyrin, by the teaching drum heard him. "I have no option but to report this matter to the Master Drummer. Even if I felt inclined to cover for you – which I don't – enough people will have heard this practice, and questions will be asked."

"I didn't teach it, I'm sure!" Blurted Ellax. "I – I just thought it would be good for him to be brought down a peg or two as he's so fond of himself. I don't know where he learned it."

"Are you suggesting that he worked it out for himself?" Rokayas' voice dripped with sarcasm. "Or have you perhaps been leaving drum records lying about the place where nosy apprentices might read them?"

"NO!" yelped Ellax. Tyrin hugged himself mentally with glee though he kept his face expressionless. "And – and I can prove that – I didn't know the archaic form, and that's what I'd have on my records!"

Rokayas gave him a long, searching look.

"The alternative is scarcely believable." He said. "I will return my report immediately. You boy" he swung round to Tyrin "Will be at the drumheights as soon as this class finishes." He strode from the room. Ellax gave Tyrin an unpleasant look.

"You may have got me into trouble you little shit" he said between clenched teeth, "But you'll have a hard job explaining to Master Olodkey how you learned those measures. And I tell you he's quick with his drumsticks – and not just on drums!" He laughed a short, bitter, unpleasant laugh, taking comfort in his disgrace from the idea that Tyrin would be in trouble for – he supposed – stealing drum records from somewhere.

hHhHh

Tyrin climbed the long stair to the drum heights with some trepidation; but he had had the forethought to run to his room and grab the tables he had made to work out patterns. He found himself surveyed by the Drummaster, Master Olodkey. The man gestured to Rokayas, and the journeyman began to question the boy, quite kindly.

"Well, young man, you're a quick learner however you came by those drum measures. Now, tell me your name, and how come you learned them. Tell the truth now – the feat of learning outweighs any irregularity in their acquisition."

Tyrin rather fancied this last phrase may have been a direct quote from the master; somehow it did not seem to be Rokayas' style. He said,

"Sir – sirs – my name is Tyrin, preparing for apprenticeship, I hope, under Master Domick. We – it was my idea, please don't blame the others – we thought it would be fun to try to work out as many measures as possible because of their logical relationships. And, well, certain things happen if certain messages come in and you can take a good guess, especially if you keep records. It was just a game sir – we, uh, I, didn't mean any harm by it. I guess we all thought it would come in handy later in our apprenticeship."

The Master exchanged a look with Rokayas. He boomed in a voice like one of his own drums,

"And how did you contrive to keep records?"

Wordlessly Tyrin held out his sheets of calculations. The Master took them and shuffled through them, and passed them one by one to Rokayas. He scrutinised them carefully.

"Where do these sheets come from?" Asked Rokayas suddenly.

"Sir, I made them from river reeds. They're good enough for rough notes."

"Yes, they are, laddie. I'd be careful to keep quiet about these – if other apprentices found out they've no convenient excuse to avoid work due to shortages of copying materials, you'd be most unpopular."

Tyrin risked a glance upwards and saw that the journeyman was twinkling. He grinned ruefully.

"I guess I would sir. But then, so are people who learn too much. You take your choice I guess – popularity, or taking advantage of the opportunity of learning. I've lived Holdless, sir; I appreciate any learning I can get."

Olodkey boomed again,

"How did you know there was a pattern, boy?"

Tyrin dug his toe into the floor and looked down. Still, surely no one could cause trouble for a queenrider, could they?

"Sir, my foster mother noticed and pointed it out. She was amusing herself by working things out too, though I think she got further than me. I was just trying to catch up, and – well, like I said – it sort of became a game."

"And who is your foster mother? One of the support staff?"

Tyrin shook his head.

"No, sir, she was in the Infirmary because of being ill… it's why she was bored. Her name's T'lana….T'lana of High Reaches."

Olodkey looked puzzled and Rokayas stared at him.

"You're fostered by that sexy – er, that young Weyrwoman?" He asked astonished. Tyrin grinned at his lapse then rapidly schooled his face.

"Yes sir."

"And she saw a pattern?"

"Yes sir. It's a hobby of hers. Patterns and numbers."

"Well addle my yolk!" The journeyman declared.

"The question is" said Master Olodkey "What to do about it." He scowled at Tyrin. "You say you're hoping to be Domick's apprentice – why?"

"Sir, I want to learn to craft tunes properly, not just play twiddles." Tyrin admitted.

"Multitalented, eh?" Grunted the master. "What happens if he won't take you?"

"Sir, Master Jerint said he would not be unwilling for me to work under him."

Master Olodkey's eyebrows shot up his forehead.

"Then you'd not be interested in an apprenticeship with me?" He drawled sarcastically.

Tyrin flushed.

"It's so very difficult." He admitted. "There are so many interesting things to learn – but you have to choose. It would be nice" he said wistfully "To study specially under each master and learn everything." He threw out his arms expansively, forgetting the narrowness of the drumheights rooms, and barked his knuckles on the wall. He bit back an oath, and added, "Except Master Shonagar, because I apparently sing like an ungulate farting, so I'd be wasting his time and mine."

Olodkey's face twitched.

"And what of Master Morshall?" He quizzed. Tyrin looked thoughtful.

"Well, sir, he knows so much – and the more I learn, the more I realise there is to learn, so I suppose that's another Master it would be interesting to be apprenticed to as – as a rotational sort of thing."

Olodkey appeared to be having trouble with his shoulders; they kept shaking. Tyrin peered at him suspiciously through lashes over demurely lowered eyes. The Master said, with an effort,

"I think that the idea is, young Tyrin, that you are supposed to develop your greatest talent under an appropriate master. But we don't have a MasterTroublefinder here!"

Tyrin looked injured. The Drummaster added,

"You could easily do well up here; but as it appears that you are multi-talented as well as doubtless a right piece of mischief" – Tyrin looked even more injured and outraged, and the Drummaster swept on ignoring his expression – "Then I had better talk about this with the other Masters to see who has prior claim on keeping you out of trouble."

"Yes sir. Thank you sir. I think." Said Tyrin.

hHhHh

His dormitory mates were waiting for him.

"How did it go? Are we in trouble? Do we need to own up that we were in it too to get you off the hook?" Asked Ferry. Tyrin shrugged, bewildered.

"I don't think I got chewed out." He said cautiously. Ferry raised an eyebrow.

"I guess you'd know if you had been." He declared "What did they say?"

Tyrin repeated the gist of the conversation.

"Reckon he'd take any of us on?" Asked Lisend.

"Why not ask Rokayas? He seemed pretty impressed – and you are good." Said Tyrin.

"I might just do that." Lisend looked pleased. He did not follow the Logic patterns very well, but he was quick and accurate at learning the drum measures once the others had figured them out. Tyrin thought that he'd have a good future on the drums, and he'd be away from the crowds of boys that so unsettled him. As to his own future, he'd just have to wait and see – but it might be worth while hanging around master Domick to run errands and see if he remembered him.

hHhHh

Domick certainly remembered Tyrin. The boy knocked at the Master's door and had been bade to enter; and as he came nervously in the Master surveyed him with a steely eye.

"What do you want, boy?" He barked. Tyrin bit a lip.

"Sir, I came to see if there were any errands to run sir. In case you thought I was ready to enter apprenticeship under you."

"So you think you're ready, eh?" Domick's tone gave nothing away.

Tyrin flushed.

"Sir, I think I could learn much more from you now than I could have done before; I've learned enough to see how much more there is to learn and to find theory without applying it to – to personal projects frustrating."

Domick grunted.

"Bored with Master Morshall are you?" He sounded accusing.

"Not exactly sir – but he has opened all sorts of possibilities that I want to try out."

The Tunecrafter Master smiled grimly.

"And I don't suppose that you've had the self control to keep all your creative urges inside." He added, "I've heard some of your attempts at variations, so don't dissemble. Show me what you've written." He held out a hand and Tyrin meekly passed him his scores on the makeshift leaves. Domick raised an eyebrow. "Ingenious." He murmured.

It was several minutes before he raised his eyes from the tunes and gazed at Tyrin.

"There is merit" he said "BUT they are still rough. You do need to be my apprentice; you need to have certain bad habits eliminated before they become too ingrained. Now, look over my transcriptions of your other tunes."

Going over to a cupboard, Domick took out a scroll on which he had written down all the tunes Tyrin had played to him when they had first met. Tyrin ran a now practised eye down the scores and winced several times. Domick nodded.

"Now you see why that theory training was so necessary." He said, not unkindly. Tyrin nodded, engrossed.

"I'd like to re-work these if I may." He said.

"May? It is my wish that you do so. It shall stand as your first lesson. Re-work the first in the sand tray; and then we shall discuss the merits and demerits of your re-write." Master Domick waved the boy to a sand tray; and returned to his own work.

After struggling with what he had previously considered to be his masterpiece, Tyrin was finally satisfied, and cleared his throat nervously. Domick looked up and came over. He studied the tray.

"Play it." He said, his tone non-committal. Tyrin heaved his pipes out of the bag he always carried and played it through. He had to admit that it sounded better. Domick merely frowned.

"And on that third bar, when you come to put gitar accompaniment – don't you think that the fingering will be rather awkward?"

Tyrin bit his lip.

"I hadn't thought of that." He admitted.

"Evidently." The Master's tone was dry. "It is something you must always bear in mind. You have time to re-work it before the evening meal."

Tyrin suppressed a groan. He had a feeling that he was going to be sick of his lullaby before Master Domick professed himself satisfied!

hHhHh

Tyrin was gratified to find that Master Domick had excused him from some of his lessons with Master Morshall in order to teach him himself. His workload was prodigious; and as he suspected he was soon sick of the lullaby! However, the amount he was learning was more than he could have believed; and he soon found the truth of Journeyman Lugal's words about being sick of scripting variations on Moreta's ride! He had less time to hang around with his friends, but tried to make sure that they stuck together whenever possible to prevent Horgey, Hillas or Dwinn from picking on any single one of them. Ellax had ceased to be a problem; word had come that he had been posted as Drum Harper to a remote Hold. This somewhat diluted the problem of Hillas; and as the bullies had been shown to be defeatable they were not a great problem without the backup of a journeyman. However, there was no point tempting them to display their hatred!

hHhHh

Tyrin was also working hard for Master Jerint. He was indifferent to gitar as an instrument, although he did not shirk practise; but he enjoyed playing the Harp and had requested that he work on a lap harp as a project. He had, as he explained to Jerint, made makeshift harps from handlooms and taut threads, varying pitch with thickness rather than length, but it had always been unsatisfactory. Jerint had managed not to shudder in horror, and explained patiently the theory behind pitch change and length of string or wire. Tyrin brightened; this all fit in with the mathematics he had learned from T'lan, and he was quickly able to work out how the diameter of the wire used would also affect the pitch for the increase in pitch of the deeper notes without requiring a great increase in length. He propounded his theory to Master Jerint, who looked at him in amazement.

"Well, young Tyrin, you do certainly take things in. Yes, that is the way we do it; although I'd not be expecting to teach it to you yet. However, it is unnecessary for a small lap harp, so you will not have to concern yourself with accurate measurements of the wire we are sent. Only with basics like length and fit of tuning pegs. And remember, the tuning peg is NOT a substitute for workmanship on the length of the wire."

Tyrin, duly praised and admonished in one sentence, nodded; and got down to work. It was fun working out how to set up the pieces for his first harp, using the lathe carefully to trim the wood for it. He determined to make his first piece very plain but with the best tone he could achieve; for he had ambitions. In his mind's eye, Tyrin saw a lap harp shaped like a dragon, the strings running down a graceful curve that delineated the great translucent wings and a neck curving up as the spine of the harp. He sketched it out unaware that Jerint was watching him. The Master said,

"It's rather an ambitious project, lad."

Tyrin jumped. He said,

"Yes, sir, I know. That's why I want to be sure and master the musical side of the making rather than over-decorate from the first like – like some people" he added lamely, knowing that he would rightly bring down criticism on himself if he was specific in his accusations. He went on, "That way I will learn enough to do justice to this – one day. I'd not start it until you told me I was ready, sir."

"So I should hope." Jerint growled; but Tyrin did not think he was displeased. The master added, "Make your sketches on this old thin piece of drum hide I was going to throw away, and keep them for the future."

Tyrin thanked him; and did as he was bidden. Then he returned to the task in hand; he had a lot to learn before he could realise his ambition!

hHhHh

Of course, Tyrin was teased unmercifully by some of the other apprentices for his very plain harp. Many of them were working hard to produce instruments that were good enough to be stamped by the master as saleable to raise some marks at the rapidly approaching Winter Gather. Tyrin was unconcerned with marks at the moment. It would have been nice to have something to spend on frivolity, but he was well clad and well fed; he needed nothing. There would be time for that maybe at the Spring Gather. So, he worked solidly, ignoring taunts that such a plain piece would not attract a sale, and was pleased to be praised by Master Jerint on the tone and feel of his instrument.

"I'd be happy to stamp it for sale if you wish." The Master told him. Tyrin shook his head.

"Thank you sir – but I'd as soon keep it to play on." He said. "I wanted something I could really get to grips with to improve my harping, and this is a part of me in the way no practice harp can ever be."

Jerint laid a hand on the lad's shoulder.

"It is difficult to believe that you have not even fourteen turns." He said. "I hope you continue to behave with wisdom throughout your life. But boy!" He looked stern. "Do not become dull through overwork – you will burn yourself out! Now take this and enjoy the Fair, and if you ever tell anyone I gave it to you, I'll skin you and use your hide for drums, so help me!"

He thrust a counter into Tyrin's hand and strode away. Tyrin looked down – and saw a whole mark piece! He gasped. How generous of the Master! Tyrin's eyes were suspiciously moist and he had to blink hard. That showed that Master Jerint truly approved of his strategy to learn not earn; and Tyrin determined to treat all his friends who had helped him so much!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 Meet Kitiara**

Tyrin set off to the Gather with a light heart. He had promised to meet his friends at the bubbly pie stand, for he had some things to finish before he went and bade them go on ahead. He was whistling jauntily when he heard a voice call,

"Boy! I say, boy, can you help me please?"

Tyrin looked for the source of the childish treble, and saw the face of a girl peering up over the rim of a drainage ditch. It was freckled, none too clean, and surrounded by an unruly mop of orange curls. Tyrin went over.

"What are you doing down there?" He asked. She scowled at him. She seemed to be about his own age or a little younger and her muddy clothes were of fine quality.

"I slipped." She said, trying to maintain dignity. "What does it look like, wher-brain? And now my foot is caught."

Tyrin could see that her foot was trapped beneath the root of a tree that reached down into the ditch and carefully scrambled down beside her.

"You're lucky" he said "That I'm nice enough not to take exception to being called names."

"Lucky? You have to help me. YOU'RE just an apprentice." She sniffed and tossed her tangled locks.

"Apprentice I am. At least I'm doing something – not relying on who my father is." Tyrin agreed wholeheartedly with T'lana's assessment of the lack of worth of many of the Ranking.

"And who IS your father then?" She asked. Tyrin looked down his nose.

"If you MUST know, he's R'gar, Bronze rider."

She wrinkled her snub nose.

"Oh fardles!" She exclaimed. "That well outranks mine. Shells, are you going to make me apologise?" She sounded chagrined. Tyrin grinned and shook his head.

"Like I said, I think it's more important what you do than who your father is." He said. "Who is yours then if you're so proud?"

She pulled a face.

"It's not so much Father as Mother." She explained cryptically. "She's one of Lord Groghe's daughters."

"So you're L'rilly's cousin?"

"Yes. You know Lir – L'rilly?"

"Sure I know L'rilly. I guess I even quite like her now. She's a bit…." He mimed with his hands throwing them up in the air. The little girl grinned.

"I'll say." She agreed. "Not that I really know her. OW!" She added as Tyrin forced her foot the last few inches.

"Sorry. Can you stand on it?"

Gingerly the child tried her weight, winced a little and nodded.

"Yes thank you. Please will you help me out?"

"Sure." Tyrin scrambled out himself and pulled her bodily. "Here, let me strap that…my handkerchief is cleanish…"

Quickly he tied his handkerchief around the girl's foot to support the strained ankle. She got up without aid, and an expression of great relief.

"Aaaah, that's better. Say, are you going to the Gather?" She asked. Tyrin nodded.

"You want an escort?" He offered. She nodded. He asked, "Weren't you with anybody?"

"Yes, some of the girls fostered with my sister, and her of course. But they didn't want to get their clothes muddy in the ditch, or be late for the start." She shrugged. Tyrin's eyes glittered dangerously and she said hastily, "Oh, Teffie said she would send one of the men back to help me, I expect he got delayed, or it seemed longer than it was because of being cold."

"How DID you fall in that ditch?" asked Tyrin suspiciously.

"It was an accident." But she blushed. Tyrin drew his own conclusions. He had learned enough from weyrlings to have found out that not all families were as close as his had always been; and elder siblings often bullied younger ones. He brushed her down as best he could and asked gruffly,

"What's your name?"

"Kitiara. What's yours?"

"Tyrin. That's pretty."

"I know. Not like me." She said scornfully.

"My foster mother has red hair. I kinda like it. Besides, you're brave. That's more important."

"Is that a compliment?" she asked.

"No, it's truth. You only squeaked once when I was twisting your foot, and you stood like it didn't hurt. You – you oughta go for Impression." Tyrin blushed. "Are we going to this Gather or what?" He finished angrily, aware that he was babbling.

oOo

It was unfortunate that Hillas and Horgey should happen along at that moment. They stared a moment, then a nasty smile spread across Hillas' face.

"Well, well – see who's here. Swotty Tyrin – and his girlfriend. So even if Tyrin don't care to accept who's boss, perhaps he will to save the girlie!"

"You leave her alone!" Shouted Tyrin.

"You'd better not touch me you loathsome oaf!" added Kitiara. Hillas laughed.

"Looks like we're making our point, eh, Horgey?"

"You said it, Hillas. Let me deal with the girl!" he walked forward to take her by the arm. Furiously she tried to shake him off/ and Tyrin dropped his head and butted him in the ample stomach. A fist caught the side of his head as Hillas joined the fray; and with ringing in his ears, Tyrin despaired of fighting off both boys and stopping them from hurting Kitiara.

oOo

Just as Tyrin felt that he was about to lose consciousness from repeated blows, he felt the weight that was Hillas heaved off him. Vaguely he was aware of Kitiara shouting to someone to see if he was all right; and he was gently lifted.

"I'm all right." He mumbled, spitting out blood. "The kid – Kitiara – is she hurt?"

"No, lad, thanks to you." Said a kindly voice.

"Thanks to me? It was thanks to me she was in this mess." Said Tyrin bitterly. "If those two bullies hadn't had it in for me, she'd never have been attacked."

"And I'd still be in the ditch waiting for father." Said Kitiara tartly. "Father, Tyrin rescued me from the root that had trapped me and lifted me out. If he'd not been delayed, he'd have got to the Gather Field before these two got here."

The man laughed.

"What's this – a mutual appreciation society?" he asked.

"Sir, your daughter is a brave girl, and I think she ought to try for Impression." Said Tyrin.

"Do you now!" The man hid a grin. "I presume you've experience?"

"Oh, father, his father is a Bronze rider." Said Kitiara impatiently. "We had a splendid little fight while we established Rank."

"I see." Her father said gravely. "And would you like to try for Impression when you're older? After you've been fostered?"

"Yes, father, I think I should!" She declared.

Tyrin cleared his throat.

"Excuse me for being forward, sir, but if you wanted to foster her, why not put her in a Weyr to see how she gets on with dragons?" He suggested. Get her away from that sister of hers, he thought.

"Foster at the Weyr? It's never been done before." Kitiara's father was dubious.

"Sir, my foster mother is a great believer in exchange of ideas and – and so on. That's at High Reaches Weyr. I – I think she'd enjoy it." He bit his lip, a little scared of his own temerity. Shouting about principles to another scrubby brat his own age was one thing; making suggestions to her father was another. However, all the man said was,

"Well, we'll see. Now, do you feel up to going to the Gather?"

Tyrin nodded enthusiastically.

"Oh yes, sir! I've a whole Mark to spend and I owe my friends bubbly pies!"

The Holder laughed.

"Perhaps I should add to your wealth as you were kind enough to lend your escort to my daughter."

Tyrin's face stiffened.

"I didn't do it for marks or reward, sir." He said stiffly as the man reached for his pouch. Kitiara's family withdrew his hand from the clasp.

"I do beg your pardon, young man. But do I ask you let me thank you by standing you and your friends – and Kitiara – some bubbly pies when we get to the Gather. It's the least I can do."

"Well….if you insist sir." Tyrin did not want to appear churlish, so he accepted the offer in the spirit in which it was made, and managed a smile. Ferry and the others would surely appreciate the fortunate accident that had gained them extra bubbly pies!

oOoOo

Ferry and the others voted Teefer, Kitiara's father, a capital fellow, and Kitiara as good as a boy. Teefer was a cheerful fellow who listened sympathetically to the lads when he drew them out to tell him about Hillas and Horgey. Apparently he had sent the two back to the Harper Hall while Tyrin recovered his senses; and he swore that something would be done about the attack upon his daughter. Tyrin had begged him not to mention his part in it so that nothing would get back to the bullies and cause the dormitory mates more problems; and it had been from this point that Teefer had uncovered the depredations of the bullies. Teefer was not about to let the two boys get away with trying to hurt Kitiara, any more than he intended his own daughter Teffie to get away with leaving her sister in a ditch or letting her companions push the little girl about in the first place! He had a shrewd idea that it was one particular little madam who was spoiling his elder daughter's manners, and he intended sending her back in disgrace once he had the whole story. He had already banished the party of girls back to the Hold as a punishment, and intended escorting Kitiara himself. However, during the meanwhile, Kitiara seemed happy enough with these apprentice boys; and he decided to leave her with them while he spoke to one of the Masters.

oOoOo

Tyrin and his friends were highly amused to watch Kitiara answer back pertly to journeymen who assumed she was a new female apprentice and watch them seethe as she disabused them of this notion. As it was only the officious and petty journeymen who decided to make any kind of issue of her presence, it was only they who received her rebukes as she displayed the knots of rank she wore hidden by her knitted scarf. The friends enjoyed the Fair to the full with the added spice of smugness, full of hot bubbly pies and proud of Tyrin's marksmanship at the games of skill. He won a fine belt buckle for himself, stamped from bronze in the shape of a harp. Tyrin tried his skill again and won a second prize; after deep thought, he chose a hair band of springy wood carved delicately and painted as entwined gold and bronze dragons. This he presented to Kitiara with a jerky bow and a blush. She squealed with delight and put it on; and to Tyrin's deep embarrassment kissed him soundly on the cheek.

"Aw – wherry teeth!" He growled. His friends howled with merriment; and Tyrin sighed, knowing that they'd never let him forget this!

oOoOo

On returning to the Harper Hall for supper, the notice was given out that Tyrin was to see the Masterharper. Tyrin blanched, and left without comment.

oOo

The Masterharper was a very tall man, but somehow he did not seem intimidating. He smiled kindly at Tyrin.

"Ah, Tyrin … I'm sure you'll understand if I just take the edge off Zair's hunger before I talk to you?"

"Sir, don't waste time asking me!" Tyrin assured him hastily. The little bronze firelizard was chirping hungrily as Master Robinton held meat for him. At last the little creature was sated, and the Masterharper turned to the boy.

"I'd like your confirmation of events that led to an – incident – which has been brought to my attention by a Holder."

Tyrin drew a deep breath, and began.

"Sir, I had the good fortune to be of assistance to Kitiara – to Lord Teefer's daughter – and two other boys came and started making game of us. They would not have tried to hurt her, sir, if they had not thought she was a friend of mine – but we do not get on."

"I see." The Master said. Tyrin had an uncomfortable feeling that he did. "And there names?"

Tyrin stared firmly at his feet. The Masterharper went on,

"Was it Hillas and Horgey?" As Tyrin looked up startled, he added, "They spoke each other's names freely. Lady Kitiara remembered them."

Tyrin bit his lip.

"Sir, if Lady Kitiara testifies, why do you need me?"

"Because I will not consider a charge against my people without some confirmation. I do not want charges that might be motivated by spite to be propagated." He added suddenly, "Tyrin! You cannot know that it was your presence that made them attack her – even if they saw it as a way of making sport of you. Are they the sort of boys who might have teased and bullied a helpless holder girl if they happened on her, not knowing her rank because she was muddy and had no escort?"

Tyrin thought about that, frowning in concentration. Then he looked up.

"Yes, sir, they are." He replied honestly. "I wouldn't talk but they're a danger to the weak and to youngsters smaller than them. I guess my father would expect me to protect them by talking out, wouldn't he?"

Robinton hid a smile at the seriousness of the boy's tone.

"Yes, Tyrin, and I expect it of you too. You must learn to make your way through hazing; it's part of growing up. But there are limits beyond which teasing stops and bullying begins. We all have a responsibility to stop bullies; before they grow up to become someone like Fax. In a place this size, it is almost inevitable that there will be some bullies. They should not be shielded – you're doing them no favours either, because they must be very unhappy boys to need to force their will on others. Of course sneaking is not done; but you must use your common sense about such things!"

"Sir" Tyrin ventured "We – my friends and I – had things under control by sticking together. I made them look idiots; that's why they were glad to get me without the others. It's better to do it that way, without Masters intervening. It was just unfortunate."

Master Robinton fixed him with a steely gaze.

"Nevertheless it happened." He said. "I have your confirmation of the story I have been told – and will take appropriate action. But do not feel that it in any way concerns you. The reasons for my decision will be made known. You will scarcely feature in it."

"Thank you Master Robinton." Tyrin escaped, relieved that he was not going to be branded a blabbermouth by others!

oOoOo

Nothing was seen of Horgey or Hillas for the next two days, one of which was disrupted by Threadfall. However, the following day after supper, Masterharper Robinton rose to make an announcement.

"There have been two expulsions from this Hall for behaviour unbecoming to a harper." He began. "Apprentices Horgey and Hillas have left us. This is not for failing to reach the required technical standard; and I want to remind you all that technical excellence is NOT all that makes a harper." He paused, sweeping his gaze around the attentive, questioning faces; then resumed. "It is the responsibility of the Harpers to teach." He said. "You all know that – but the best way to teach is by example. That is why as Harpers we have a code – a code which we are honour bound to follow. It was in obeying that code that many of us risked our lives during the tenure of Fax to teach and propagate the Duty Song and other required teaching ballads. Without the courage of those who taught – and often died – Pern would have been even less prepared than it was when Thread returned."

He thumped the table. Everybody jumped. Then he roared in his beautifully modulated voice,

"Friends of mine did not die for you to behave with negligence to your duties!" He paused to allow the shock to sink in and continued. "These boys are expelled for trying to bully a little girl who happens to be Ranking. They did not know her Rank; and it should not have made any difference. What is this Hall coming to if, not content with making the lives of younger boys miserable, some of you must needs attack ordinary folk too? The girl was defended by a lad who is worthy to aspire to be a Harper, but who wishes to retain anonymity. I trust that you will seek to emulate him rather than our departed apprentices. We have a code for a good reason; and those who do not wish to abide by it had better leave now rather than later. The good name of the Harper Hall will NOT be smirched by such!"

There was shocked silence as the Masterharper sat down, then a buzz of conversation. Tyrin was glad that his name had been kept out of it, but had felt the blood rise to his face as the Master spoke and was convinced everyone had been staring at him. However as he caught whispered conversations asking who the Masterharper had meant, he grew easier. The speech had affected him a great deal – and he reflected that it was only the Harpers who had maintained the position of the dragonfolk throughout the Long Interval. His respect for the Masterharper deepened as he realised that he had been a part of the defiance against Fax, a period which was just old history to Tyrin. That this great man should have described him as worthy to aspire to be a Harper just took the boy's breath away! He determined not to let the Masterharper down in any way – either by shirking his lessons or in behaving in any way but as a harper should. Of course, he reflected, it was much the same for a dragonman. You had your duty – and in the same way that you had to recognise that and abide by it from the moment of Impression – and before it if you hoped seriously to Impress – so you had to do likewise if you wanted to remain in the Harper Hall. Tyrin wondered if that was part of the initial testing; he had been told that he would have up to two years to attain the required standing and become an established, or even a senior apprentice, or else have to leave as unsuitable. Up to half of the intake could be found inadequate, and many were gently persuaded to leave before this time rather than work at skills for which they were unsuited. Those who went on would leave the daily grind of Master Morshall's classes, reporting to him more infrequently. His dormitory mates were eagerly awaiting the next posting and promotion announcements; with the extra work they had been doing, they felt sure that they would be deemed ready to progress. Tyrin hoped so himself – but dared not voice the hopes to himself!

oOoOo

It was several days later that the postings were announced, and before that the list of boys who were deemed to have done enough to be assured of a full apprenticeship – subject, Master Robinton reminded them, to continued good behaviour. Tyrin was delighted to hear that all his friends would go forward to the next stage of training, even the diffident Lisend; he scarcely could expect to be acknowledged himself, he reminded himself, as he had been there such a short while. Nonetheless, he was disappointed not to be named with the others and stared hard at the table as the senior journeyman moved on to the list of those apprentices who were to be named senior and given extra responsibility. He could not listen as he fought with himself. Thus, he jumped when Ferry dug him in the ribs. The boy was grinning at him – and so were the others. Tyrin gaped at them.

"Well done – senior apprentice!" Whispered Kerill.

"ME?" Tyrin's voice warbled across several octaves even on the monosyllable and came out much louder than he had intended. He blushed as his eye caught that of the Masterharper who gave him a half-salute with his wineglass.

It was of no moment to the boys who had made journeyman, though they listened respectfully and duly cheered the newly promoted young men, then gave vent to their own enthusiasm as the company broke up for the evening. Tyrin was overwhelmed, and kept telling his friends that he would never have done so well without them. Ferry scoffed,

"Nonsense. Sure, we helped at first, but it was you got us through getting us to enjoy the work. You explained things you got the first time and we didn't – and it was your plans made them bullies leave us mostly alone. You deserve it, Tyrin. You'd be good already at a posting to help a journeyman teach – you make things real easy, and fun too!"

Tyrin coloured, and cursed, cuffing Ferry half-heartedly. He was embarrassed that he coloured up so easily, like a girl and covered it by horseplay. He was a modest lad, and honestly was surprised by Ferry's words.

"Wherry teeth." He growled. "You must have a wherry or two loose in your top paddock."

"No – he's right." Stev spoke up. "I grasp concepts as quickly as you, maybe quicker – but I don't know how to pass them on. And I enjoy my training – but I couldn't make others enjoy it."

"If anyone has a Wherry loose in the top paddock it's you, Tyrin." Broke in Shoris' beautiful voice. "You worked for it – you deserve it. And in drum measures we're better than a lot of the journeymen, but you're too young to be considered for that yet. It won't be long though – just a couple of years I bet! And won't your family be proud!" He sighed. "I'll write and tell my family I'm confirmed to stay – but they'll not be pleased for me."

Tyrin put an awkward hand on the younger boy's shoulder, and the lad smiled gratefully at him.

"Hey, Shoris, their loss is the Harper Hall's gain." Said Anslas. "We know how good you are – and we appreciate you. And so do the Masters, or you'd not be confirmed."

Shoris managed to smile all round, though it was rather a tight little smile. He spoke little of his seaholder family, but it was plain when he did that he found their rejection of him and his talent very hurtful. He had once confided to Tyrin that his father had told Journeyman Menolly that any fool could sing, and the boy hadn't even a good strong voice for it – but he had surely better things to do with his life than mess about playing and singing all his life like a child. Tyrin had been unable to offer any comfort – all he could do now was to affirm his belief that Shoris was an asset to the Harper Hall and would show them all in the end. Shoris shook his head.

"Journeyman Menolly told me that her family feels the same about her." He said. "They can't imagine her as a senior journeyman and that she's actually considered to be a significant person."

Tyrin shrugged.

"Unfortunately there are a lot of idiots out there." He said. "I guess we just have to remember that we have as much responsibility to them as to those who recognise the significance of the service that the Harpers provide."

He was shouted down for a remarkably pompous speech; and a cheerful brawl ensued that dispelled any negative feelings harboured by Shoris and restored him to his phlegmatic self!


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 A task for Tyrin**

Tyrin was crossing the courtyard when the Masterharper's melodious voice hailed him from a high window.

"Tyrin! Come up a moment – I have a job for you!"

"Sir!" Tyrin turned smartly and ran towards the door nearest the staircase, thrusting the letter he carried into his belt pouch. It had been written on real paper, albeit rather rough, which had awed Tyrin – but it was the contents, scrawled in T'lan's hasty but neat hand that had excited him. He had been on his way to impart his news to his comrades when the Masterharper had interrupted his reverie.

Tyrin galloped up the stairs two at a time – he had been undergoing a growing spurt, and his legs were getting longer, necessitating new trews from Silvina. She had passed him the letter with his new clothes, explaining that the rider who had brought it had been in a hurry but sent everyone's best wishes. Tyrin grinned – he had recognised his friend R'ben from Silvina's description and knew that he was probably late for something! He paused as he reached the door of the Masterharper's room and knocked; the deep voice bid him enter.

hHhHh

Masterharper Robinton was sprawled in his chair, his long legs crossed comfortably in front of him. He waved Tyrin to another chair and began.

"Well, Tyrin, as a senior apprentice, you are expected to be able to take care of younger apprentices and show them the ropes. Will you take care of a new apprentice for me?"

"Of course, sir." Tyrin answered without hesitation. He was happy to do anything for the Masterharper, even if the new lad was a no-hoper who whined. Master Robinton smiled.

"Our new apprentice is not the er, run of the mill newcomer." He said. Tyrin said,

"Is there anything I should know about him – background which might, well, cause any difficulties?"

Robinton laughed, and Tyrin raised a quizzical eyebrow. The Master said,

"It depends on how you look at it, young Tyrin. You know our latest apprentice – who would like a certain amount of – discretion." Raising his voice he called "Come through!"

A small flame haired figure came from the adjacent room and Tyrin's jaw sagged.

"Kitiara?" He gasped. She grinned at him, and the Masterharper said,

"I have been long hoping for more female apprentices – but Kitiara is a little nervous of being known only as 'the female apprentice' until she has proved herself capable. Without an outright deception, she would like people to draw their own conclusions since people always see what they expect to see. So, with her father's permission she has cut her hair and dressed like a boy. No one is going to lie, but if she is known as 'Kit' there should be a period of, shall we say, equivocalness, until she has settled. Of course, Menolly is exceptional" his voice softened as he spoke about the young journeyman "And there are those who dislike the idea of female apprentices and cite her as the exception rather than the rule. Kit here has sufficient talent to prove a perfectly adequate Harper and is, I hope, the first of many. She will be a pupil primarily of Master Shonagar, who has professed himself very satisfied with the potential of her voice – it will be nice to have girls to sing female parts in productions as used to be done once." He sighed. "The only problem is accommodation."

"Sir, that's easy." Said Tyrin. "There's a spare bed in my dormitory – if the others are sworn to secrecy, we can rig up screens if you'll give me permission to draw extra hangings from Silvina and lengths of wood from the Hall Woodcrafter."

"Are you capable of building screens? Something large like that is a different proposition to making instruments." The Masterharper was concerned. Tyrin grinned.

"When I lived Holdless I learned to do all sorts of jobs to earn some marks. I can turn my hand to a lot of practical things. I could even weave fillings between screen frames if I had to, if there are no hangings available, but it would take time."

"A multitalented young man." Said the Masterharper, amused. "Very well, tell Silvina I gave you permission to take from stores anything you need, and order any extra wood you need. She knows Kit's identity of course; she'll understand what you're doing. Off you go, the pair of you!" And they were dismissed, Tyrin helping Kitiara with her bag of clothes and instruments.

hHhHh

Once let in on the secret, the other boys were more than happy to be dragooned into helping Tyrin to build screens.

"They need to be free standing" he explained "so we can tell people they're to stop an awful draught we have in here – and they can be put aside from Kit's bed in the morning. Kit, you'll have to get up first to use the washroom before us, because Stev's a lazy porcine who has to be thrown in the bathing pool at the last minute."

Stev grinned and took a bow. Kitiara nodded.

"I rise early anyway." She said. "My job at home was to supervise the drudges in our family complex – as training for running my own establishment. Grandfather is very keen on the idea that you don't order people to do things you've not at least tried. Even if some of my uncles don't listen too hard." She sniffed. She added, "Are you going to make the screens two- or three-fold? The threefold ones are more sturdy, and don't fall over so easily. There are some in the great hall, painted all over with dragons in gold."

"Wow!" Tyrin breathed a sigh of reverence. "They must be something to see. Yes, I can manage that. One won't be enough, though, unless it's so big as to be unwieldy. We'll have to make two and I'll have to live with limited elbowroom. That's all right; I can always kick Ferry to make him move up."

Inevitably, this led to a brief, enjoyable scuffle before the work got underway, which Kit watched with some apprehension. Tyrin was quick to reassure her.

"Aw, Kit, don't look so worried – we'd not duff each other up if we weren't friends, see?"

"Actually, I don't really see. What about those bullies who set on you?"

Tyrin sighed and explained patiently.

"That's different. They set on me – they wanted to hurt. Ferry an' me, we were just punching and wrestling, see? Nothing more than play. No bruises – well, not big ones – no tearing of clothes, nothing violent."

Kit said,

"I see" and managed not to laugh. She realised that she would have to learn to tell the difference between good-natured rough and tumble and real fighting; all she had known was the jealous jockeying for position amongst her uncles. She had a lot to learn. Tyrin said,

"Perhaps when my foster mother visits, you'd like to talk to her. She pretended to be a boy to escape from Nabol Hold and went to High Reaches Weyr on Search. She managed to fool everyone for turns!" He added, with a cheerful disregard for strict accuracy. He remembered his news and exclaimed, "Fellows, I had a letter from home! T'lan's having another baby, and Pilgra says it's bound to be a girl because she's busy throwing up!"

The boys clustered round to hear all the incidental news from the Weyr; as they had helped with Mirrith, they took a proprietorial interest in the little Weyrwoman who rode her and her and Tyrin's extended family. They were deeply impressed by the medium on which the letter was written; it appeared that the Weyr had a new woodcrafter who knew the secret of making it and who also had four firelizards! T'lan noted that he appeared to be training them well, and Tyrin laughed, knowing her dislike of ill trained firelizards.

hHhHh

As a new 'boy' Kit was inevitably the target for hazing, and attempts by more senior apprentices to get her to run errands. Tyrin and his friends however rallied round, and helped her stand on her own feet. Tyrin himself was having some problems; he was young for a senior apprentice, and boys of fifteen and more turns resented him ranking them, especially as he had come so recently and untrained to the Harper Hall. He found himself the butt of a number of pranks, some which he could genuinely laugh at and accept being the object of a joke such as the time when a page of an extremely scurrilous song was inserted into a serious piece he had been playing for Master Domick. Tyrin had recognised that the page was wrong before he started playing and stoically accepted the Master's blistering retort when he confessed to having got his sheets out of order. Tyrin had seen another boy hide a grin behind his hand, and after class took the sheet of music to him.

"Have you lost this, Kister?" He asked, innocently. "It's a good piece, but it doesn't fit in with Lord Groghe's daughter's wedding march."

The boy grinned.

"I guess you're all right." He said. "It was just a bit of fun – say, you carried on real well from memory. I wondered if I'd not got it in the right place!"

"I'd practised it once already – but the fingering gets complex and I lost it. Look, Kister, I know I'm a lot younger than a lot of you, but I've my reasons for working hard. I really want to make my foster parents proud of me because they took me in and gave me everything. I'm not doing it to show anybody up – well, except Ellax, but I guess no one liked him."

Kister nodded.

"Just steer clear of Hasen and his cronies." He said. "And warn your young friends; he'll try to get at you through them."

Tyrin sighed.

"Don't they LEARN?" He asked bitterly. "Weren't they listening to the Masterharper?"

Kister shrugged.

"When you feel put down, you hit back." He explained. "I wanted to haze you because I didn't get made senior until I was fifteen, and I'd been here three turns. I resented your rise; but I can see you deserve it. Not that I'm apologising; your face was a picture, and I enjoyed every second of it. But some guys, I guess, are just such little people they get scared of looking bad if you look good. Me, I reckon I'll look no worse, you'll just shine and the rest of us will have less of Master Frostyface's comments to contend with because he'll be so busy polishing you."

Tyrin grinned.

"No reason you shouldn't polish yourself – like we did in our dormitory." He said. "We helped each other and we've all improved because of it. I couldn't have done it without the kids to help me."

Kister looked thoughtful.

"Then shall we help each other?" He suggested tentatively. "And see how it goes."

Tyrin nodded and held out his hand; and they shook on the agreement.

oOoOo

Kister's cheerful pranks – Tyrin was not the only sufferer – were motivated by high spirits, and though Tyrin might be shocked that a young man of more than sixteen turns should still indulge in such childishness, he had to admit that his new friend had no side to him. Hasen was a different matter. Kister told Tyrin that the boy had been worse since a slightly younger lad, one Crohan, had fallen under his influence. Kister found it hard to understand; Crohan had always struck him as a quiet, studious boy with a happy disposition whose talents were mediocre but who had worked hard enough to attain the rank of senior apprentice. Since Hasen had taken an interest in him, however, he had changed to become sullen and vied with Hasen to shower insult and pain on other boys. Indeed, Kister declared, Hasen too had become worse since he had teamed up with Crohan. It was all very strange.

"Too much spare time." Sniffed Tyrin. "All the leisure we have here, makes folk childish."

Kister shot Tyrin a curious look; but the boy looked bland. Kister however seemed to be working on growing up after this – he didn't want a younker like Tyrin to think him childish!

Hasen and Crohan could not, of course, be expected to forgive Tyrin for being a senior apprentice so young. Tyrin had quietly celebrated his thirteenth turn at the end of the summer and made no issue of his age – but his still small stature and relatively recent arrival made for snide comments at the very least. It amazed Tyrin to discover that he had spent as long now at the Harper Hall as he had previously been at the Weyr; and certainly he felt as though this was home. Even so, the Weyr still held very deep associations for him, with the deep love he felt for his adopted family as much as for his sister. As such he laughed to scorn the insinuations that he was a 'jumped up nobody'; and used the fighting tricks R'gar had taught him to give as good as he got when Hasen tried to use his greater size and strength against him. Hasen turned to a dirty tricks campaign – literally, by filling Tyrin's bag with his own soil when the boy had left it in the teaching hall while he ran an errand for Master Domick. Tyrin discovered the result when he came to get out his pipes to play for the Master and his exclamation of disgust was questioned sharply.

"What is it?" Domick wanted to know. Tyrin turned to face him, his face white with fury and his eyes blazing; but he answered calmly enough.

"I apologise, sir, I appear to have picked up the wrong bag." It was no good telling the Master the real problem; it would solve nothing.

Domick gave him a sharp look, but did not press the point. He merely said,

"That was careless. Very well, borrow Kister's."

hHhHh

After class, Domick called on Tyrin to remain behind; and Hasen sniggered. Tyrin stood relaxed before the Master; he knew he had done nothing wrong. Domick scowled at him.

"Show me." His tone was uncompromising.

"Sir?"

"What prompted that expression when you opened your bag. Don't try to fool me into thinking it's not yours; I recognise the darn you made on the corner."

Tyrin sighed.

"It's not worth making an official fuss about, sir."

"Did I say I was going to? Besides, I'll be the judge of that. Now, show me."

Tyrin showed his master with some reluctance and Domick made a disgusted sound.

"What do you know about the origin of this filthy – I hesitate to refer to it as a joke – occurrence?" He asked. Tyrin grimaced.

"I only have suspicions." He said.

"What do you know about Hasen and Crohan?" Domick asked suddenly. Tyrin supposed he should not be surprised; the Tunecraftmaster seemed to have an uncanny knack of knowing what was going on. He told the man all that Kister had told him. There seemed little point in concealing it. Master Domick pondered.

"I wonder… I have seen something like this before." He mused. "Young Tyrin, when you make journeyman, if you come across such a situation amongst the youngsters for whom you are responsible, separate them. You may avert a tragedy!" He added forcefully. Tyrin looked at him in amazement, and Domick continued, "It may be that a dominant, but mediocre achiever in his craft may exert an almost hypnotic influence on a weak willed follower and feed his ego and desire to 'get back' at others from the follower's admiration. This is only a theory of mine based on an experience as a young man, and some hints from ancient, almost illegible records. Your discretion and good sense will, I'm sure, prompt you to keep quiet about this – but know when to remember it."

"Sir – thank you for trusting me." Blurted Tyrin. "But – nothing Hasen and Crohan have done have been worse than usual bullying."

"And do you give as good as you get?" Asked the Master. Tyrin nodded, and Domick continued, "Do not concern yourself. I may, after all be wrong – but I will take steps to be on the safe side."

hHhHh

Tyrin, dismissed, wondered what steps the Master intended to take; but he knew enough to trust the judgement of the mercurial Tunecrafter. Meantime he had a bag and instruments to wash and scrub thoroughly. Crohan accosted him; Tyrin's grave expression evidently convinced him that the boy had received a telling off from Master Domick for carelessness. Tyrin did not disabuse the boy of this notion as he heaped scorn and insults on his head; but returned insult for insult, as he would do in any case. Predictably, Crohan broke off before things could get physical; he had tangled with Tyrin before and had not enjoyed the experience! Tyrin hurried back to his own room, and warned his friends that there could be trouble. They were indignant at the outrage that had been perpetrated, and helped him wash his things; and agreed to stick together in at least threes.

hHhHh

Tyrin had had no intention of undertaking any eavesdropping; but when he ran back to Master Domick's room to check that he had got his next lesson's time right in the excitement he heard Master Robinton's sonorous voice and paused outside.

"I'm not at all sure that Crohan is ready to be a journeyman." The Masterharper was saying. Domick countered,

"No, Rob, nor am I, but there are reasons… do you remember, or were you so concerned over Fax, that there were two leatherworkers, itinerant journeymen of barely adequate ability, who took to killing children to prove that they were better than other people because they took power over life and death?"

"Great Shells, Domick, I'd forgotten all about that. But what bearing does that have?"

"One of them was dominant – the other had always been very ordinary. He acted almost like he was owned by the dominant one, who liked to prove how big he was. I think we have the same situation here – some of the apprentices have noticed an attitude change in Crohan, since he met another, overbearing lad. If he is promoted and posted, it separates them – and in promoting Crohan over Hasen it will give him the self-esteem to break free. It will also demonstrate to others who might fill his place that it was not Hasen who was favoured but Crohan, the better Harper. Can you think of a better plan?"

There was a moment's silence.

"No." said the Masterharper. "No, I can't. Very well Domick – I will post the promotion. It would be better to send out a mediocre Harper than to risk something of THAT sort again."

Tyrin, aware how rude he was being, crept back down the stairs and then ran up them noisily to give warning of his approach; now he saw why Master Domick had been so concerned! This must be how Harpers were said to be able to look into other men's hearts – they studied and remembered cases that had happened before, and were able to recognise patterns of behaviour!

hHhHh

Tyrin kept what he had heard to himself, as he had kept to himself what Master Domick had told him. Thus, he was the only one not surprised when Crohan's promotion and posting to a small Seahold was announced. Kister muttered indignantly and Tyrin shushed him.

"Maybe the Masters think he'd actually blossom back to the way you said he was before if he was away from Hasen." He whispered. Kister considered this.

"Possibly." He agreed, dubiously.

Tyrin thought it might well be so; out from under Hasen's influence, Crohan might well be a nicer boy. After all, he'd heard the story of how T'sellan and S'gell, two of T'lan's closest friends had initially been influenced by the bully Koreb to join him in his unpleasant mischief until T'lan had demonstrated that he could be stood up to. Now, they were two of the finest people on Pern, model dragonriders, T'sellan a Bronze rider and a hero of Tyrin's friend R'ben who flew in his wing. Tyrin made sure he went up to Crohan and held out his hand.

"Congratulations." He said. "You'll be happier now you've proved yourself, won't you?"

Crohan gave him a funny look. After all, this was the kid he'd just been bullying!

"What's with you?" He asked suspiciously.

"Nothing. I'm just glad that you know now that you can tell a mere apprentice like Hasen to stuff it – because it's plain who's the better man."

Crohan looked torn – he opened his mouth to defend Hasen, then shut it again. He nodded curtly to Tyrin, and turned on his heel. Tyrin tried not to look pleased; after all, a disaster may have been averted but it would not stop Hasen from being a bully – and he would be angry at losing his admirer.

hHhHh

Tyrin's assessment turned out to be valid; Hasen became increasingly mean, but somehow he seemed to lack the cruel imagination that Crohan had inspired in him. Such could be tolerated, and Tyrin and his little band kept a covert eye on the senior apprentice, sending warnings of his movements with drum measures, making sure that there were never any little boys left alone when the bully was around. The masters and senior journeymen watched and listened in amusement. Lugal accosted Tyrin one day.

"Has it ever occurred to you, young Tyrin" he asked, using the idiom in which Master Domick was wont to address the boy, "That all of us who can read drum measures are perfectly well aware of your network of warnings?"

Tyrin looked nonplussed. He knew that Hasen knew no more than what was required; and nor did most of the apprentices or indeed many journeymen. He had forgotten that there were a large number of people to whom his stratagems were as clear as daylight.

"Am I in trouble?" He asked cautiously. Lugal laughed.

"Shells, no, lad! If it takes combining against a bully to set apprentices practising drum measures we should maybe introduce more! What with Ellax and Hasen, you're developing quite a reputation as a protector of the weak!"

Tyrin flushed and scowled.

"It's only right for the strong to protect the weak." He said. "It's one of the tenets of dragonriders. But you don't have to be a dragonrider to do what's right."

"Quite so." Lugal agreed. "Just be a bit more discreet if you are planning something that the Masters can't really ignore – I think I was the only one who heard you plan to send a journeyman through the booby trap Hasen's set up, but in conscience, you'll have to find another journeyman. I refuse to trip it now I've heard you drumming that I'm on my way!"

Tyrin grinned unrepentantly.

"Sorry." He said. Lugal cuffed him gently.

"No you're not." He said. "Don't worry – Menolly should be along here in a few minutes – and I'd love to hear her comments on the subject of buckets of urine over doors."

hHhHh

As it happened, the plotters went one better than Menolly; it was Master Domick himself who called for the gaggle of boys to hurry up inside, and striding ahead himself received the entire bucketful. Since Hasen was lurking inside waiting for Tyrin and his friends to go in, it was plain who was the culprit – and Domick was in a foul mood! Hasen was made to clean the floor and wash Master Domick's clothing and was then on water rations for two sevendays. It did not improve his cordiality towards Tyrin, but it was nonetheless sweet to the boys!

_if anyone is interested the phenomenon of high/medium dominance danger is typified by the likes of Leopold and Loeb or Hindley and Brady_


	6. Chapter 6

_SPOILER ALERT TO T'LANA STORY this chapter covers about the same time as chapters 6 and 7 of T'lana Logicates so you might want to wait and read it after reading both of them. _

**Chapter 6 Some Unpleasantness and a Hatching**

Kitiara was settling in to the routine of the Harper Hall aided by Tyrin and his friends; several people had jumped to the erroneous conclusion that she was Kerill's younger brother since both were red heads, and neither bothered to dispute this. Tyrin privately gloated that neither had such brilliantly flame like hair as T'lan, but had to concede that Kit's orange mop was quite a pretty colour. She would never feature amongst the great Harpers; but she studied hard and did sufficiently well at her studies not to arouse too much ire from the irascible Master Morshall. It was her voice that was her strongest feature; although it was not as gloriously golden as Shoris' voice, she had a lovely singing voice that could soar to the highest register without trouble. Unlike Shoris, she would keep her voice as she developed, for it would deepen only gradually. The boy hoped that when puberty set in he would have a reasonable voice after everything had settled down, but realised that it was only practical to make the most of what he had now and make sure that his other skills were up to scratch in case his voice was never good enough again. He had prepared himself for the worst, as was his custom; he explained to Tyrin that it was not pessimism, just pragmatism.

"Besides" he said, "If my voice should be good afterwards, think what a nice surprise I'll have. If it's not, I've lost nothing. You optimists never have pleasant surprises, because you always think the best will happen!"

Tyrin laughed.

"I'm not so much an optimist" he said "As someone who thinks that something will turn up – if you look for chances and make the most of them."

Kitiara reflected that this was what set Tyrin aside from most of the other boys; he accepted life as it came and made the best of any situation, and got advantage out of what seemed to be disadvantage! He also worked really hard, not just for himself but for all of his friends, involving older boys like Kister and even the journeyman Lugal to help them out. Kitiara nibbled the end of one tawny lock and reflected that Tyrin was a good sort of boy to know and as the son of a Bronze rider would probably be acceptable to her parents as well. However, that sort of thing was well away in the future; and in the meantime he was a fardling good friend.

hHhHh

Unaware that Kit was considering plans for his future, Tyrin had busied himself making pipes for sale at the coming Spring Gather. He had not spent much of the Mark Master Jerint had given him last time, but he wanted to save enough for a really good piece of wood for his special harp. He was seriously considering asking T'lan to ask the new Weyrwoodcrafter to sell him something suitable; after all, he seemed to be one of T'lan's protégés, judging by her motherly reference to him in her last letter; but he wanted to be sure he was good enough. He was working on another harp that he was lavishing more decoration on, to be sure he had the principles set firmly in his mind, and this one he did intend to sell if it were finished in time.

Tyrin's dismay when he entered Master Jerint's workshop the morning before the Fair was indescribable; for there on the bench his harp, needing only finishing touches, lay in smithereens. The Master put a hand on the lad's shoulder.

"Someone has it in for you." He said. Tyrin shrugged.

"Looks like it, doesn't it!" He said bitterly. Almost anyone could have slipped from the apprentices' dormitories into the workshop – and there were plenty that did not like him because of his industry. Most likely it had been either Hasen or Dwinn – but there was no way of proving which one. He squared his shoulders. "I can re-use the wires – they're cut right, and they've not been touched. I'll just re-make it. May I lock the next one in a cupboard, sir?"

Jerint nodded. He was very disturbed by this; but the lad had mastered his bitter anguish and was going to get right back to work, undefeated. The Master determined to ask Menolly for a loan of her firelizards as the boy's work approached completion again – and maybe make a red-handed catch with a dummy harp that resembled Tyrin's.

hHhHh

Despite his disappointment, Tyrin was happy to go to the Gather with his friends. They laughed at the backs of some of the Hold's fosterlings who refused to talk to 'grubby apprentices'; Kit told them some stories about the behaviour of the girls that left them gasping at their audacity and bad manners! They thoroughly enjoyed themselves, avoiding the attentions of Hasen and the few boys who still hung around him – which now included Dwinn. As the bullies started to saunter over, Tyrin was glad to recognise one of the dragons dozing in the sun and called to the others,

"Look, there's Mirrith! I wonder where T'lan is?"

Quickly they hastened over to Mirrith, Lisend and Ferry now more used to her. Kitiara was entranced.

"She's so beautiful – so much more beautiful than any pictures I've ever seen!"

Mirrith knew this; and told her so. Kit almost fell over in surprise; and Tyrin told her,

"She likes you. Mirrith is quite chatty to people she likes. She's vain, aren't you lovely one?"

Mirrith snorted at him hard, and he picked himself up, laughing.

"Ah, Tyrin!" T'lan's light pleasant voice sounded. "Are these the kind lads who helped with Mirrith when I was ill?"

Tyrin gave an affirmative, and introduced the boys who had not been allowed into the infirmary.

"And Kit, here" he said "Who's new. Yes, T'lan you can put the eyebrow down, she's finding it more convenient dressed that way – just for now. It's not a deception, just a misleading."

T'lan laughed and ruffled his hair.

"So how's it going?" She asked. "It's been ages since I saw you."

"Oh, fine – I'm learning loads." He said. "I say, you haven't lost the baby have you?" Suddenly concerned about her having come _Between_. T'lan shook her head.

"No, it's the safe time." She assured him. "All the boys send their best, and R'gar of course and Sagarra." She looked across at Hasen and Dwinn and added "Any problems?"

"Nothing I can't handle." He told her firmly. "The masters are pleased with my progress – I had a lot of catching up to do on the basics" - he reflected that he still sometimes got caught out by things so basic they were all expected to have learned them from a Hold Harper and grimaced. "But I'll do it and show 'em all!" He added, "I'm doing well enough T'lan. Just you wait – I'll make you proud of me!"

"I am proud of you dear one." She said quietly. "And I miss you too, of course. I've been to ask permission for you to come to Hatching in a few sevendays; and Master Domick said you might. I expect that he'll let you bring a couple of friends too."

Tyrin whooped.

"Hear that, you lot? He cried. "I don't know how to choose who to take, though."

"Draw lots." Suggested Kerill.

"Yes – but not if you're in charge of it!" Declared Ferry. "You Ruathans have a way of winning that makes me suspicious."

T'lan left them having a squabble over the relative honesty of Bitrans, Ruathans and Harpers and went to add the permission of two other boys to Tyrin's. Mirrith meanwhile was taking a personal interest in the boys who were lurking close by. She could feel their cruel thoughts and her eyes began to whirl in irritation. She extended her neck towards them, and deliberately yawned. The boys fell over themselves to get out of the way, and Tyrin laughed.

"Clever Mirrith!" He said, reaching up to scratch her head and rub her eyebrow ridges. "She can't see why that worries people, you know" he told the others conversationally "But that it does is sufficient. She's special is Mirrith." Since Mirrith concurred utterly with that summation she crooned happily.

"I can see why they worried." Said Ferry. "She's got big teeth."

"Yes, but dragons NEVER hurt people except sometimes at hatching." Tyrin earnestly assured him. "She's very gentle. She just doesn't like people who hurt others – and I guess she could just read Hasen and Dwinn's thoughts."

His friends were awed, and hastily assured Mirrith that they always tried themselves to be nice to people!

hHhHh

Tyrin found out later that Lugal would also be seeing the hatching – but from a different perspective! The journeyman came to see Tyrin.

"I'm afraid I shan't be able to help you boys out any more." He said. "However, you've gotten yourselves all well ahead, so you don't really need me. I'm being sent for Impression."

"Impression?" Tyrin was shocked. "But Lugal, why? You're brilliant! You've a great future ahead of you as a Harper!"

Lugal laughed.

"'Harpers serve in many ways.'" He quoted. "If I do Impress, I'll be taking the place of the old Weyrharper in a turn or two; he's getting old and could do with a sinecure somewhere. He is an Oldtimer, poor man and feels, I'm told, as if he's seen all the turns they came through!"

Tyrin congratulated him warmly; but he wasn't himself sure that it was for Lugal's good, since he was convinced that the young man had it in him to be a Master! However, he admitted that a dragon could scarcely ask for a better life mate than the kind, intelligent Journeyman.

hHhHh

The reason for Lugal's sudden candidateship became clear to Tyrin when Master Domick began questioning him about his foster mother's facility with the drum measures. Tyrin explained to him as he had explained to Master Olodkey; it appeared that the Drum Master had not discussed Tyrin's ability with the other masters. Domick had noticed Tyrin's abilities with the measures – as he pointed out dryly, anyone with an ear could tell that there were certain apprentices who used craft secrets for chatting about their enemies. Tyrin went scarlet, but held his head high.

"Great shells, boy, I'm not going to eat you!" Cried Domick, exasperated. "I'm just curious about how she worked out that there are patterns. So far as I am aware, Olodkey and I are the only ones to notice it."

"T'lan is clever." Tyrin told him stoutly. "She'd be really interested in the ideas exchange I keep hearing hints dropped about. She likes numbers and patterns. I guess she'd like your music too, sir – because of that."

"She seems to." The master said dryly; but Tyrin could tell he was pleased. "Well, young Tyrin, I suppose you'd better go on this ideas exchange too – if only to burn off your surplus energy!

"THANK you sir!" Exclaimed Tyrin. He realised that the Master was tacitly telling him to learn as much as he could about everything he could, and recalled Lugal's comments about Harpers serving in many ways. Master Domick was curious about how T'lan had worked out Harper secrets, and wondered what else she had worked out. It was obvious really – Harpers did a lot more than entertain and teach and keep the peace. How could they keep the peace if they did not know everything that was going on? Did not Master Sebell disappear off with Menolly for long periods – and come back very tanned? Obviously another function of Harpers was to find things out, and other people who found things out would naturally be of interest – and even a potential threat. Master Domick had to assure himself that T'lan was not a threat through Lugal, whom he trusted! Tyrin was not sure whether to be affronted or not – but of course, the Master did not know T'lan as he, Tyrin did, poor man. Still, Lugal would soon realise what a wonderful person T'lan was, and would duly report back. It was only natural that Master Domick should not ask Tyrin about T'lan, for he would expect him to be biased – and Tyrin admitted to himself that perhaps he might be, though he was sure that he could present an objective report if asked!

hHhHh

Time flew until the hatching, despite Hasen and Dwinn's best efforts to make life uncomfortable. It had been Shoris and Lisend who had won the draw to go with Tyrin, and when a large, familiar Bronze dragon landed neatly on the dancing field they were almost sick with excitement. Lisend was white faced, torn between the terror of the thought of actually flying dragonback and excitement over the honour he was to receive.

There was speculation amongst the other apprentices over who was to be transported where on the Bronze dragon; it must be for someone very important, probably one of the masters. Horrified chagrin was loudly expressed when Tyrin said in what he fondly hoped was a nonchalant tone,

"That's Laranth, chaps. I guess that's our transport."

"You cheeky brat, suggesting that a bronze dragon has come for you." Said a journeyman. "And where do you think you're off to?" As Tyrin grabbed his jacket.

"I have advance permission from Master Domick." Tyrin said, his face cherubic. "So do Shoris and Lisend. We're to go to the hatching at High Reaches."

The journeyman spluttered.

"Don't tell such blatant fibs! D'you think I'd believe for a moment that a brat of an apprentice would have the honour of going to a Hatching – and on a Bronze dragon?"

"You call me a liar?" Tyrin was white faced. "I do NOT lie, journeyman. And that's not just 'a Bronze'. It's Laranth. And R'gar is now coming up here and he's not going to be best pleased about being kept waiting."

The one eyed weyrlingmaster was indeed striding up towards the hall; and the journeyman sneered.

"Well, young man, why don't we all go and see you off?" Plainly he believed that Tyrin was spinning fantasies; and meant to show him up in front of the Bronze rider. Tyrin was quite content.

"Thank you." He said. "That would be nice. Hey, you lot, take care!" He called to his other friends. The journeyman started to look worried as Tyrin strode out, unconcerned and whistling. R'gar was entering the arch as he exited; and the boy ran to his foster father with his hands held out.

R'gar caught the boy's hands in his and gave him a loving buffet on the shoulder. There was no need for words; they just greeted each other in wordless understanding.

"We're ready father." Tyrin said, gruffly, indicating his friends. Shoris' eyes burned with envy, and Tyrin was quick to link arms with the younger boy to walk off towards Laranth.

hHhHh

"FATHER!" Exclaimed the journeyman. "WELL!" And left, feeling rather foolish. There was a rapid reassessment of Tyrin amongst the other apprentices. Some of those who had held themselves neutral in the little war between Tyrin and friends and the bullies started wondering whether being allies of the son of a Bronze rider might not be more advantageous than just not annoying bullies! Of course it fuelled still further the resentment of those who disliked and envied Tyrin; it was just too much that on top of making himself Masters' pet he should have such a father!

hHhHh

Tyrin was happy to be sharing a lift with Camo as well as with his friends; he liked the simple man for his straightforward joy in life, and always made a point of passing the time of day with the big, slow man. Camo was plainly overjoyed to be flying on a dragon to 'go and see big Pretty's eggs'. Tyrin himself had not flown often enough for it to be a routine occurrence, though he could at least scramble onto Laranth's neck with a minimum of aid. Shoris gulped before determinedly climbing up, pulled by R'gar, and for a moment, Tyrin wondered whether Lisend was going to turn tail and flee. Fear of being laughed at won out over fear of Laranth's size and he let himself be hauled into place. Both boys had used the necessary right before leaving, since Tyrin had warned them that many first-time passengers had accidents on going _Between_. Lisend thought that take-off was bad enough; and Shoris reminded himself that a fishing-smack in a gale was more nauseating. Tyrin waved down at the receding audience, but one look was enough for his passengers! Tyrin was unaware of his friends' discomfort; he was busy composing a song about flying, knowing that he now had the expertise to do it adequately. He reached into his pouch for the stick of charcoal he habitually carried, and was busy scrawling on his cuff as they were enveloped in the colder-than-cold sensation that was _Between_. Irritably Tyrin counted the three heartbeats that pounded so hollowly in his chest so that he could finish the measure he was recording. R'gar laughed.

"Still busy writing tunes on your cuffs, son?" He chuckled. "Don't they give you proper writing materials at the Harper Hall then?"

Tyrin laughed.

"Forgot to bring any!" He yelled back into the wind.

"Never mind – our young Hallon makes leaves from wood-pulp – and he's well involved in T'lan's mathematics as well. You'll like him – he's a nice lad!" R'gar told him. "Gets on well with your friend Lugal!"

Tyrin reflected that anyone Lugal liked was probably a good sort; then got ready to scramble off as Laranth swept in to land. Tyrin waved R'gar off as he set off to collect T'lan's aunt and uncle; and T'lan herself engulfed Tyrin in a bear hug.

"You've grown!" She accused. Tyrin grinned.

"It happens little mother" he said, from surprisingly superior inches. He had not noticed at the Gather; he'd had other things on his mind. Or maybe he'd grown again since then. His trews did seem a little short again.

"Brat." She said. "You know where to go, take the others – oh, Hallon!" She hailed a young man who dwarfed even Camo, who was standing near the Hatching Cavern entrance looking lost. He came over quickly. She continued, "Just the person I wanted! Can you look after Camo and see him to a good seat? He's a guest of Mirrith's. Go on, Camo, go with Hallon. I have to be with Mirrith. Hallon has four pretties."

Tyrin guided his friends in as Hallon took Camo. Tyrin looked forward to getting to know the young man better. But for his size, he looked young for a journeyman, with a good natured, boyish face that was almost indecently handsome. Tyrin reflected that there'd be some gossip about him and T'lan; but doubtless she and R'gar would ignore it. Hopefully the woodcrafter would do so too; but the craftbred could be so dreadfully prudish at times!

hHhHh

Tyrin's initial good impression of Hallon was further strengthened when he heard the Journeyman's voice rebuking some self-opinionated guest for objecting to Camo's presence, and pointing out that as the guest of a dragon, the simple man had more right to be there than anybody else. But the humming stopped then, and Tyrin turned his attention to the eggs.

First from his shell was a little Bronze, and a cheer went up at the good omen. He made straight for a lad who yodelled with unrestrained joy, a sound that was taken up by a large contingent of Seaholder folk in the tiers. Y'lara was, Tyrin noted, adding her voice to the celebration; perhaps the boy was a relative of his sister's Green-riding friend. Shoris grinned at him.

"D'you think there are seaholders here?" He asked, laughing. Tyrin grinned back.

"I think there just might be!" He chuckled. The happy seaholders had more to cheer as two more lads who were apparently their relatives also Impressed, one of them another Bronze, the other a Brown. More interesting to Tyrin and his friends was the Bronze dragon that stepped daintily from his shell and marched firmly but delicately up to Lugal. The Harper stood transfixed, and Tyrin was aware of tears rolling down his own face and a big lump in his throat as he watched.

"Good old Lugal – L'gal I mean!" He said, raggedly, then threw back his head to sing out one of Master Domick's creations to celebrate hatching. The others joined in, Shoris' voice of liquid gold turning heads and starting the firelizards and Mirrith joining in with an intricate harmony.

Meanwhile, Tyrin noticed that one of the three newly hatched Bronze dragonets had refused all the candidates there and was making for the Tiers; but Hallon was there to steady him before he fell. H'llon, Tyrin corrected himself. Convenient that the woodcrafter should have been so close! Tyrin had a shrewd idea that his foster mother was at it again – neither she nor R'gar looked exactly surprised!

Tyrin grinned as he overheard a conversation in which both H'llon and L'gal expressed their surprise. T'lan, it appeared, was very well aware of the reasons for L'gal's presence; and the young journeyman confessed it with some chagrin. H'llon, it appeared, was afraid of losing his position as weyrwoodcrafter, silly clunch, but T'lan was reassuring them, and they were off with Camo to help, to feed their dragonets.

"C'mon!" Tyrin dragged his friends along. He'd helped with Sh'rilla's Daenilth, and he felt sure his father wouldn't object to him and the other two helping L'gal. He at least knew the proper procedures; he'd done it before.

L'gal was pleased to see them, introducing them to Solpeth.

"You'll have to break it to Master Domick, Tyrin." He said. "I must say I wasn't really expecting this…"

Tyrin grinned.

"I could have told him that the only way she subverts people is by being loveable." He said. "But he never asked me!"

"Does everyone know what I was doing?" Asked L'gal, pulling a face. Tyrin shook his head.

"Only us intelligent ones." He countered, ducking the cuff L'gal aimed lazily at him.

hHhHh

Tyrin also sought out H'llon.

"I had been going to ask your advice about wood" he said, "But I guess you'll be a little preoccupied for a while."

"Seems like!" Agreed H'llon cheerfully. "Isn't he beautiful? Say, do I know you?"

Tyrin agreed with H'llon that Melth was indeed beautiful and explained who he was. The young man's brow cleared.

"Of course – and that's who you look like, it's Sh'rilla." He said. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Not all bad I hope!" Tyrin smiled.

"On the contrary – R'gar and T'lan are so proud of you, I've been looking forward to meet you!" H'llon extended his hand, and Tyrin took it, flushing to the roots of his hair and muttering something about wonderful parents making it an easy job for a chap to do well. He turned the conversation to the oiling of Melth, which was undertaken with the enthusiastic aid of Camo and H'llon's four proud firelizards!

hHhHh

All in all it had been a good day; even Lisend had enjoyed it, though he did not relish overmuch the trip back to the Harper Hall! Tyrin was happy; he had seen Sh'rilla and been fussed over – she had insisted on finding him some more, longer trews. He'd seen how the babes had grown, and Sagarra had given him a sticky kiss and some of the sweetmeats she had been making with Lanelly. H'llon had given him some poor quality leaves of paper to jot down his latest tune, and it had stopped tickling the inside of his head now it was committed to writing. Life, he thought, could hold no more.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

_OkayI'm not going to put one up tomorrow to catch up the timeline of T'lana; just to warn you and for those people who skipped this chapter to catch up._


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N if reading both, it's better to read the T'lana chapter 8 first. The later death of a weyrling at Fort is covered in canon, it's the death that worried Jaxom about whether or not he'd be permitted to fly._

**Chapter 7 Bad News from the Weyr**

The Golden Queen circled in to land on the dancing square. Tyrin thought for a moment it was one he did not know – and then realised that it was Tamalenth! She had certainly lost weight since he had last seen the young Queen; Tyrin's private name for having been 'Tummylength' for the overindulgence she had received from her rider, L'rilly. Tyrin mused briefly what L'rilly wanted at the Harper Hall; maybe it was something to do with her grandfather. Rumour said that the old Lord Holder had gone careering off the day before on the Hold's resident Blue, Kirrith in a fine old paddy and his firelizard shrieking hysterically too. Maybe Kit would find out, he thought as he returned to the variations he was working for Master Domick.

Tyrin was surprised when there was a knock on the door, and L'rilly came in. her face was grave as she looked at him and his heart lurched. She spoke to Domick.

"Master Domick, may I have Tyrin for a while? There's been a – a bit of a problem, I'd rather he heard direct than got the news by drums."

Domick looked questioning, but nodded permission, waving Tyrin to accompany the weyrwoman. Tyrin stood up, fighting the roaring in his ears. Surely, though, 'a bit of a problem' didn't mean that someone was dead? Numbly he followed L'rilly out, and let her take his hands awkwardly.

"Thread?" He whispered. "R'gar? T'lan? Sh'rilla?"

L'rilly shook her head.

"Nothing fatal." She assured him hastily. "But T'lan – she's been raped, and, well, the fate of the perpetrators is going to be disseminated by drum. She wanted you to know before you heard – and I said I'd come so R'gar could stay with her. It was awful!" she blurted, then swallowed, working on staying calm to help her friend's fosterling. "We were kidnapped by Holdless – they had crossbows. We couldn't call in the dragons, those things could have killed them!" she gulped. Tyrin stared aghast.

"Mirrith? Are the dragons all right?"

L'rilly nodded.

"It was just Mirrith and Tamalenth. We took Y'lara and Z'linda – you know, T'lan's cousin. Sh'rilla stayed at home, thank goodness!"

Tyrin heaved a sigh of relief.

"Did – did they hurt you?" It was impolite not to ask. L'rilly shook her head.

"They thought we were little rich girls – but as T'lan was pregnant, they thought she – she-d not be devalued." She retched. "I only told them so they'd stop hitting her."

Tyrin was shaking with anger more than anything else. However he stopped himself from lashing verbally at L'rilly; it wasn't really her fault, she just never THOUGHT!

"The baby?" he asked. T'lan would be far more concerned about the baby than anything else.

"She hasn't miscarried." L'rilly told him. "R'gar brought her home _Between_, and Pilgra says if she was going to lose it, it would be pretty quick. But she's hurt, and she's upset. Do you want to come and see her?"

Tyrin thought hard.

"Of course I'd like to." He said. "But is it going to help – having me there? I guess all she wants right now is R'gar, and maybe you weyrwomen. She's not going to want to make an effort. Say, L'rilly, would you carry a letter for me if I wrote her? Then I can come later if someone will fetch me – when it'll do more good. Right now, I'll only upset her by crying, I guess."

L'rilly gave him an awkward hug, and he endured it stoically.

"Of course." She said. "I'd do anything I could for T'lan."

Amazing, thought Tyrin, how much someone can change.

hHhHh

Tyrin took L'rilly to his room to compose a letter; and she waited patiently while he wrestled with what to say. He knew it sounded stilted, but he thought she'd know what he meant, especially as he ended it, 'I love you and the kids.' L'rilly took it and Tyrin watched Tamalenth launch herself into the sky. Why T'lan! He screwed up his fists in fury, wanting to lash out at someone; and Hasen and Dwinn got a nasty surprise when, realising he was alone, they decided to exact a bit of own back.

Tyrin enjoyed the fight. He pictured the two bullies as being like the Holdless scum who had hurt his foster mother and let fly with every dirty fighting trick he had learned. Indeed, he did not care how badly he hurt them or was hurt himself, and it was only the intervention of Journeyman Menolly that prevented possible serious injury. She tore all three off a strip about fighting in the dormitories, and put them all on water rations for a sevenday. Tyrin scarcely heard her; he had yet to quiet the rush of blood to his head that had left Dwinn dizzy with a bloody nose and Hasen with a score of nasty contusions and a broken thumb. Meekly he let Menolly hustle them to Faylina for medication though he had not been aware of any pain until Faylina dressed his own wounds. Since they included a cracked rib, he was confined to the care of the infirmary for several days, to his disgust, where he was visited by Master Domick.

"Whilst I appreciate your desire to vent your anger, young Tyrin" said the Master, dryly, "May I remind you that you were doing so on my time. Therefore, I have brought you exercises to complete. A broken rib will not prevent you from writing – even if you have escaped from torturing Master Shonagar with your voice for the time being."

Tyrin stammered thanks; he had a shrewd idea that his Master wanted to give him something to do to prevent him from brooding. Domick shrugged of thanks with a wave of his hand.

"Sorry to here about your foster mother." He said. "I hope she makes a speedy recovery. Lugal ah, L'gal, I mean, tells me that she has the support of everyone. Let me know if you want to make a visit – so long as it doesn't disrupt your studies too much." He strode out before Tyrin could thank him; and the boy found that he had to sniff hard. How kind Master Domick could be under his gruffness!

The rest of the dormitory visited Tyrin in ones and twos as permitted by Faylina; they were curious to know what had happened, but Tyrin felt curiously reticent. Finally he told Ferry,

"I had bad news from home – some men attacked T'lan when she was out of the Weyr. When Hasen and Dwinn came along, I guess I saw red. I don't really remember a lot."

"Did you get hit on the head?" Ferry asked anxiously. Impatiently Tyrin shook his head.

"No, it was just that I was so angry." He explained. "You can tell the others – but I don't want to talk about it any more."

hHhHh

When the drum message was passed that certain men had been chained out in Threadfall as punishment for raping a Weyrwoman, his silence made more sense to his friends, who were well able to add two and two together. They shared his impotent fury; and agreed, shuddering, that this terrible means of execution was no less than the villains deserved. Tyrin himself, alone in the infirmary, smiled savagely to himself when he heard the sentence. Unlike his friends, who had worked out the main gist of the message, Tyrin understood it all. His only regret was that T'lan would have understood it too; and knowing her soft heart, he wondered whether she would feel uncomfortable about it. She had no need; but he knew her compassionate nature, and sighed. Then he reached for the sheets Master Domick had given him, and on the back started to scrawl down something that had been forming in his head, but only now would let him hear it properly. He scratched away furiously until the piece he had written that he called 'The Anger Song' was complete in its first draft and, exhausted by its cathartic effect fell deeply asleep for the first time in the three days since L'rilly had come with the message.

hHhHh

Tyrin was still asleep when Domick called by to collect the exercises he had set and bring others; and the Master perused the viciously scrawled song with thoughtful eyes, nodding as he sight-read the score. He laid down the new sheets and his instructions beside the sleeping boy and gathered up the scattered sheets to mark. He looked down at the lad, and wondered how such a young lad had such a sense of responsibility. Presumably it had something to do with supporting a crippled sister since his tenth turn; Domick had got the gist of Tyrin's life story from him though the lad was generally reticent. The Tunecraftmaster was not a skilled Harper for nothing, and had skilfully extracted as much information as he could from the lad, extrapolating as much from what the boy left unsaid as from his disclosures. He sighed. The tunes the boy had written to date said far more about himself than Tyrin realised; and Domick determined that the boy should learn as much as possible in case he should be claimed again by dragon and weyr. True, he had not the talent of Menolly; but in some ways he had a taste for writing more intricate music than the vivacious journeyman. Domick appreciated intricacies. Menolly wrote good, light, singable pieces that were suitable to be sung by anyone who was not actually tone deaf, pieces that had the toes and fingers tapping. Tyrin had the potential to write music that was more technically demanding, even if fewer people appreciated it. Yet he could produce simple pieces; the lullaby was delightful in its simple sincerity. Of course, that was what set a true Tunecrafter aside – sincerity. Whatever the boy wrote, like Menolly he wrote it from the heart. Domick rescued a stray lock of hair that had fallen across the boy's face and left him to sleep. He'd be ready to work hard when he awoke.

hHhHh

R'cal called by one warm summer evening several sevendays later.

"Thought you'd like to know – T'lan's doing fine. She's busy interfering in other folk's business again." He grinned to show he did not disapprove. "She said to thank you very much for the letter – it helped to know you were thinking of her." He said, still awkward with his son's fosterling. Tyrin gave him a grateful smile.

"Thanks R'cal." He said. "I was so angry. Something ought to be done about people like that."

"Yes, that's what Lord Bargen said. And Lord Groghe."

"How did he get involved?" Tyrin was curious.

"Our T'lan of course – she coerced his little firelizard, Merga, to come and bite through the ropes the girls were tied with. They're quite clever in their way." R'cal caressed the soft skin of the three firelizards that were perched about him.

"May I?" asked Tyrin. "What are their names?"

"Go ahead." R'cal gave him permission to stroke his pets. "The bronze is called Rogue – my nickname for R'gar when he was little – the blue is called Grog" – here Tyrin chuckled at the singular appropriateness of the name for the protuberant-eyed little creature – "And the green is Lessa."

The little green lizard chattered scoldingly at R'cal, and Tyrin found himself reassessing the man he had thought rather dour!

"Does Camnath want an oiling, sir?" He asked. "I can get volunteers!"

R'cal laughed.

"I'm sure he'd not mind it. He's becoming vain, the old fool, in the hopes of attracting a pretty little Green."

Tyrin raised his eyebrows, and R'cal grinned shamefaced.

"You'll hear it soon enough from that scapegrace foster mother of yours. Joroth was Impressed by a young widow, protégée of T'lan's. We, er, we're weyrmates now, and I'm applying to return full time to High Reaches. Let someone else run errands at Tillek, hmmm?"

Tyrin grinned. No wonder he seemed more relaxed!

"What does R'gar say?" he asked.

"He was pleased for me. We're going to have a baby!" R'cal managed to look soppy; and Tyrin squeezed his arm.

"Congratulations, grandfather." He said, and promptly got the far-away look that T'lan and his friends had come to recognise.

"Thank you boy – Tyrin, are you in there?" R'cal did not know the lad well. Tyrin started out of his reverie and smiled at him.

"Sorry – I was just thinking of a song. It's kinda romantic." He blushed, half ashamed of thinking about romance. R'cal laughed happily.

"Laddie, we're scarcely subjects for a song. Leave that to the important folk who have to be embarrassed by being sung about."

Tyrin grimaced.

"I can't stop a song coming if it wants to." He tried to explain. "But if I write anything, I'll only ever play it for you, her and the dragons, shall I?"

"If you don't mind." Agreed R'cal. "Maybe A'ira would like it at that. There – if you write a song for my lovely A'ira, I'll pay you proper Harper rates, how's that?"

"I don't want payment to write for family!" Tyrin was shocked.

"Then you'll let me see what sort of favour I can do to return one – all strictly in the family of course!" said R'cal, straight faced; and Tyrin nodded. That seemed fair enough!

hHhHh

Now that T'lan was all right, Tyrin looked forward to a second halcyon summer at the Harper Hall. Master Domick had made him clean up the 'Anger Song' without spoiling its spontaneity, and helped him write new verses. Tyrin was proud to hear it performed as a subtle rebuke against merely exiling malcontents and pushing the trouble elsewhere as though by shifting and hiding the problem it would go away. Tyrin gained another insight into the methods of the harpers as Domick patiently explained that his use of wordcraft could influence and teach as well as merely express his own rage. Tyrin realised that this must be one of the ways of subtle manipulation by which Harpers had been holding together society; and he felt privileged to be a part of it.

hHhHh

The summer was marred by a tragic accident.

It was obvious to the watching apprentices that there was something wrong with the young dragon flying around the mountain out of Fort Weyr; only Tyrin had the experience to realise what was wrong.

"He's strained his wings!" He gasped. "I thought they'd been up there rather a long time – he's too small! Land, you fool!"

It was too late. The little dragon, strained in the so important flight muscles, was seized with cramp; and with a despairing scream he plummeted onto the rocks far below. Tyrin turned away, feeling sick. R'gar would surely never let such a thing happen! And now – would they let Lord Jaxom fly on his little white Ruth? It had been the subject of some gossip that the undersized dragon was to be measured for size and strength so that the young Lord Holder of Ruatha might fly him as dragons were meant to be flown. But for some reason, there seemed to be opposition to it – Lords Holders could be daft at times, thought Tyrin! This tragedy might have far reaching consequences for Jaxom – and Tyrin silently wished him well and held his thumbs for the Lord Holder who was not much more than a turn older than himself. Wishing him well was the only practical thing Tyrin could do. There was nothing to be done, after all for the pair who had fallen. A party had quickly been organised by the Healer Hall; but it was without any real hope. Lisend caught Tyrin's sleeve, white-faced. Although he was more self confident now he was studying under Rokayas at the Drum heights he still turned to Tyrin when he needed help and support; and he needed it now.

"Does that happen often?" He asked. "Might Laranth have fallen like that?"

Tyrin stared at him.

"Shards, no, of course not! Laranth is mature and strong! He'd not strain a wing muscle!"

"Is that what happened?"

"Of course! Didn't you see the dragonet 'limping' right before it happened?"

Lisend shook his head.

"Was he?"

Tyrin concealed a sigh.

"The weyrling had been disobedient. There are reasons for not flying far at first – and that's the main one. Young dragons have to have their wings strengthened by gradual exercise. Like if you suddenly decide to run from here to Fort Weyr without training, you'd get a stitch and cramp in your legs. A dragon with cramps in the wings falls. It's that simple. Little fool!" he shouted angrily off towards the site of the tragedy. "Killing yourself with stupidity is one thing – but it's unforgivable to kill a dragon too!"

Tyrin's friends hustled him in. Since the attack on T'lan, Tyrin was more inclined to become bad tempered if things upset him. Kit had counselled that he would settle back to normal if no one made an issue of it; but there was no need to fuel his irritation by letting him become involved in an argument with anyone else!

hHhHh

Tyrin soon recovered from his grumpiness, and apologised to his friends. They freely forgave him, knowing that he still felt at the back of his mind a part of Weyr life – as Shoris still felt the lure of the sea and Kerill often yearned to ride off runner-back. They had good news; Ferry had managed to overhear that an actual date was soon to be set for the ideas exchange. He thought it was to be discussed and finalised at the same time as the decision over whether Ruth should fly, when lots of important people would be a captive audience for Master Robinton!

They were fortunate that it was Master Sebell who caught them discussing it and making wild speculations; the punishment duties he set them for unfounded gossiping were relatively light. Even had they been harsh, though, the young Master reflected, it would not stop the speculation!

hHhHh

In due course, the ideas exchange classes started, and Tyrin attended, fascinated. He did not exchange more than a few words with Young Lord Jaxom, who appeared to be hedged and confined by regulations and worry-wherries at his home. Tyrin was sorry for him; but the boy would only break free of those who were trying too hard to look after him by asserting himself, and Tyrin did not think that he was ready just yet. Besides, there were more interesting things going on; and Tyrin absorbed them. He was one of the few youngsters who got on reasonably well with Lord Groghe's fifth son, Benelek. The young man was a sheer genius where machinery was concerned, but inclined to be pompous. Tyrin was capable of being serious, and always took knowledge seriously, so Benelek approved of him. They tended to discuss things together and were often joined by H'llon and L'gal when they could get away and cadge a lift. This meant that R'cal was often there too; the older man had taken a liking to H'llon and treated him as though he were a younger brother of R'gar's. H'llon was also a little inclined towards pomposity, but unlike Benelek he did have a sense of humour, rather a dry and understated one that often took Tyrin unawares. It was good, too, to see L'gal again; and at these informal meetings, they could just chat as friends without the feeling that they were separated by L'gal's rank as journeyman. Not that either he nor H'llon would accept cheek or nonsense from the few favoured apprentices who attended; and it was amusing that even F'lessan, rider of Bronze Golanth and son of F'lar and Lessa showed the journeymen Bronze riders deference though Golanth was much older than their Bronzes. Tyrin overheard F'lessan complain to Jaxom that there was something about H'llon that made him want to call him 'sir', for all that he was easy going and modest. H'llon was indeed modest; he had protested when R'cal had introduced him as 'Bronze rider H'llon', saying that he'd not earned that title for real yet as Melth was too young to fight Thread yet. R'cal contended that there was such a thing as too modest; and Tyrin was holding a private book with himself over the odds on which one would capitulate first.

It was nice to get news direct from High Reaches this way as well; and Tyrin was delighted to hear of the safe birth of his foster sister Felgarra in the early autumn. Less happy was the news later in the year of the tragic death of Tath. Tyrin grieved with his weyr friends – R'ben had come on that trip both to join the group and talk to Tyrin – and could find nothing to say. All in all, he reflected, the past half-turn had been rather an equivocal one, mostly for the people he loved most. He should not feel guilty for being happy and settled in the Harper Hall; it was illogical. Yet the feelings intruded nonetheless.

hHhHh

Master Domick noted Tyrin's preoccupation and questioned the boy on it. Tyrin poured out his feelings of guilt for – he reasoned – no more than not being there. Domick put a hand on his shoulder.

"It's quite understandable." He said. "You naturally feel that perhaps there might have been things you could have done. There were not. You could have had no influence over any of the things that have happened this past season or two, as you well know, deep down. Tyrin! You are to spend time every day concentrating on the good things that have happened – and not just at the Weyr, but to you and your band of young hooligans here!"

Tyrin smiled at Master Domick's description of his friends. They were all progressing well in their studies, even Kit. Her identity had remained, surprisingly, a secret from most; it was a matter of no moment to the others in the dormitory so nothing had made them betray her identity by accident. If the truth were told, they had all but forgotten that she was a girl and referred to her as 'he' without thinking! Lisend was doing well at the drumheights; Shoris' voice was still unbroken; Stev played as though he was a part of whatever instrument he was using, Anslas, Ferry and Kerill were good all-rounders and even pessimistic Duthi was up to scratch. Not, thought Tyrin grinning to himself, that you'd ever get him to admit it.

"That's better." Approved Domick at the grin. "And you've had little more trouble with the bullies, have you?"

Tyrin chuckled.

"Not since that last fight." He said. "I think they thought I was a maniac. Of course, briefly I probably was."

Domick nodded.

"Not a good habit to acquire" he said dryly "But a useful ability to maintain in your repertoire."

Tyrin shrugged.

"I'm not sure I could ever do it again anyway." He confessed. "Something just snapped. I'm glad Menolly came along. I think I was going to kill them."

Domick nodded.

"It comes, young Tyrin, of trying too hard to assume too many other folk's responsibilities and bottling up too much trouble. Remember that your personal master is available for advice and to unburden yourself to – without making official reports or naming names necessarily. Without encouraging tale bearing, we masters do need to know about potential trouble spots so they can be monitored. What begins with mischief can sometimes go too far. And as a senior apprentice, you are not expected to shoulder the troubles of the youngsters yourself – more it is your duty to share those troubles with your seniors."

"I see, sir." Tyrin did. As he watched new arrivals, he was beginning to become aware of the fine difference between tale bearing and reporting a serious problem; and though he knew many of his contemporaries would not understand this, resolved to share more of his thoughts over potential troublemakers with his elders than he had been, even if it got him branded a sneak. Tyrin disliked whining sneaks himself, and inwardly pulled a face; but surely if all he did was to suggest that some boys might bear watching, which led to them being caught red handed, that would not betray the boyish code of stoic silence over one's own sufferings.

"I gather you also caught the boy who broke your harp." Domick said. Tyrin nodded. After all he had suffered it had been anticlimactic, and he had almost forgotten the incident. On Master Jerint's suggestion, he had quickly put together a replica and left it, not the real one, out to dry, concealing himself in the workshop. The identity of the vandal had surprised him, a quiet boy he had scarcely noticed called Aben. The boy had sobbed and cried, and it had turned out that he was so jealous of Tyrin's confidence as much as his skill that he had brooded on ways to hurt him. Tyrin had listened to Aben's pleas not to get him sent home, and had taken him straight to Master Oldive with a request that the boy be helped as he was plainly ill within his mind. Aben had recently rejoined the class and had been so pathetically grateful that Tyrin found it acutely embarrassing. However, he was a kindly lad, and endured it, helping the boy to catch up what he had missed. Domick nodded gently to himself as Tyrin brought the incident to mind.

"So you see, Young Tyrin, you have much to think on that does not involve trouble." He told the boy. "Remember it – I need apprentices who are sound in mind as well as in wind!" he shook his finger at Tyrin; and the boy grinned at him.

"I won't let you down, Master Domick!" He promised.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 Tyrin Among the Holdless Again**

When Tyrin stamped the snow from his feet one morning early in the new turn and came into Master Domick's teaching room he was surprised to find Master Robinton already there too. He stood by the door, turning an enquiring face towards Domick to see whether the Master wished him to leave and return later. However it was the Masterharper who addressed him.

"Ah, Tyrin." He said in his rich, sonorous voice. "Please come and sit down."

"Sir." Tyrin obediently came forward and settled himself in the chair that was drawn up near to those of the two Masters around a crackling fire. It was not cold in these southern latitudes in the same way that it was at High Reaches; but it was cold enough to warrant extra heat, especially in a cold snap like this with several inches of snow. Tyrin had laughed at those boys from more southerly climes who had been horrified at the snow and the cold, boasting about snow drifts up to a length deep. He instructed them in how to wear several thin layers of clothes to keep warm rather than one heavy layer; and told them how to wrap their blankets underneath them as they slept for extra warmth. Surreptitiously he now moved the chair back away from the fire as he sat down; Tyrin liked his creature comforts but these southerners did like their rooms too hot for him! The Masterharper grinned as he noticed the manoeuvre.

"Ah, yes, you're one of life's hardy people, aren't you, Tyrin!" He said gaily. Tyrin grinned back; the Master's expression was infectious.

"Yes, sir. I'm used to it being a lot colder than this."

"And you've lived Holdless – quite a feat for an adult, let alone a lad with the responsibility of someone else to care for."

Tyrin appreciated the man's tact in not just saying 'a cripple to care for.' He hated hearing his sister classified as such; so many people seemed to assume that just because her legs did not work properly she must also be in some way mentally defective too. He had frequently got into trouble – and lost work – because he had put them right in a forceful sort of way. Whilst he had got less sensitive at the Weyr, he knew that most people's views would not have altered. Still, Master Robinton was not 'most people' and Tyrin was curious about what had prompted this questioning. So, he merely nodded, and waited for the Master to continue. The next remark surprised him.

"How would you feel about living Holdless for a while again?"

"S-Sir?" Tyrin was taken aback. Surely this was not an oblique way of telling him that he was being expelled – he was sure he'd done nothing to deserve it, and in any case, he'd be sent home to his family in that case. So it must be for the increase of Harper Knowledge. He added, his voice back under control, "Where do I go, and what do you want me to find out, sir?"

The two Harpers exchanged a look.

"I told you he was quick, Rob." Master Domick said smugly.

"And you were correct. Well, Tyrin, we have had reports of a disturbing nature from Hold Gar. Do you know where that is?"

Tyrin nodded.

"Yes, sir, it's the port for Southern Boll Hold. Two days ride north of Southern Boll, three days south of here and probably quicker by sea from Fort Sea Hold for those of us who view runner beasts with loathing and suspicion."

Both Masters laughed at his emphatic rejection of the usual means of travel; then Robinton became serious.

"The reports I have been receiving involve a high number of Holdless who have apparently set up quite a camp near the Hold. There are river cliffs in which they have set up camp; apparently they had become vacant."

"Or were made vacant because the occupants were inconvenient." Said Tyrin, cynically.

"It is a possibility. However, though the population is quite high in the region with a large number of independent and semi-independent cotholds, the caves they have chosen are amongst the least accessible. There would be no problem in the normal way – other than the discomfort many people find in dealing with Holdless people – but I have also heard rumours that they are spreading stories that are calculated to cause discontent and unrest; and that they have been using…favours to get others to spread like stories. I need these rumours to be either confirmed or refuted; it should not be dangerous if you don't do anything more than watch and listen."

"What stories are they spreading? What favours are they giving?" Tyrin asked. The Masterharper shook his head.

"I want a full report without bias. I've told you as much as I think you need to know – except to warn you that such people can be ruthless and dangerous. I don't like to ask a lad to go; but not only are you less likely to be taken any account of, but also you know the way of surviving without any Hold to aid you. You'd not make the mistakes another might make. Are you prepared to do it for me, Tyrin?"

Tyrin had been nodding thoughtfully as the Masterharper spoke; now he looked up into the tall man's eyes.

"Of course, sir." He said, simply. There was no question about it. Mentally he regretted somewhat leaving his special harp on which he had just started work; but it would not spoil. He had scarcely got any further than choosing which materials would make which part anyway, and it might be well not to hurry it. "How long will I be away?" he asked.

"Hopefully only a few days." Answered the Masterharper. "You will need to become integrated with the community – you can come in with other transients at a rest day gather that is held tomorrow and stay. Yes, that means a trip by dragon – and walk the rest. No runners for you this time." He smiled at the boy. Tyrin grinned.

"And Threadfall the day after – that should establish my bone fides." He said. "I presume there's adequate shelter if you're not afraid of seeing the stuff."

"Yes." The Harper told him, "There are overhangs in the river cliffs, and indentations if you scramble. Incidentally, I understand that you are very adequate at sending and reading drum measures?"

"I believe so sir."

"You will be able to report to a journeyman I am sending to listen at the gather and learn what he can immured in the Hold during Threadfall. You know journeyman Sorill, do you not?"

"Slightly, sir. He helps Master Morshall."

"He also helps me." Said Robinton. "He knows how to listen; learn from him if you have the chance. Now, go and ask Silvina for appropriate rags and report in them – and a jacket – to the dancing ground as soon as it gets dark. And no explanations to your friends, mind!" He admonished sternly.

hHhHh

Sorill was waiting for Tyrin as he slipped out. He was dressed formally as a travelling Harper in fine blue leather and cloth, trimmed with journeyman pale blue and yellow tassels to suggest an affiliation with Fort Hold. He grinned at the incongruous figure that Tyrin made in his tattered clothes but heavy wherhide jacket and wherry hide lined boots.

"Excited?" He asked. Tyrin nodded.

"Scared too." He admitted. "I'd hate to let Master Robinton down."

Sorill grinned again, his teeth shining white in the moonlight.

"You'll do fine, lad. What about your feet, though – you have down at heel shoes?"

Tyrin shook his head.

"I presume you'll care for my things?" He asked. Sorill nodded. "I'll be leaving my boots as well as my jacket with you. I've been barefoot before, and it's another thing people who haven't can't simulate. And it's even warm down there – probably no snow, or only a frosting of it. It only really hurts when it's over your ankles."

Sorill shuddered.

"I'm not sure I want to find out!" He said. "Though I take your point – it might not be a bad idea to practise going barefoot in summer, and building up the toughness of my own feet."

Tyrin shook his head.

"Not necessary." He said. "Most men can earn enough – or steal enough – to get boots. It's only children who grow too fast for them for whom boots are just too much of a luxury."

"I see we have much to teach each other – I've been told to tell you how to let your ear coast across a dozen conversations until you hear a word or phrase that takes your interest and concentrate on it. But I reckon I've as much to learn from you." Sorill seemed genuinely interested; and Tyrin felt a surge of respect for a man who was big enough to admit that he could learn from a mere apprentice.

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a young Green dragon who backwinged neatly to a stop beside them, folding her wings as she did so.

"Hullo, I'm K'star." Her rider told them. "Ninth asks if you need help getting up?"

Tyrin shook his head and Sorill too disclaimed. He climbed up first, then Tyrin scrambled agilely up. Ninth was easier to mount than Laranth or Mirrith and he scarcely needed the politely extended forefoot, though he thanked Ninth for her courtesy.

"Aye-aye, you're used to dragons, youngster!" Remarked K'star."

"Yes, Green Rider, I'm sort of Weyrbred." Tyrin told him. It was pointless to dissemble.

"Only sort of? That's like being a little bit pregnant!" Laughed K'star. "Hold on!"

hHhHh

Tyrin enjoyed the brief flight. There was something magical about flying dragonback as the powerful wings drove them through the star spangled night and then into the deeper blackness and cold of _Between._ It was noticeably warmer after they emerged – and not just as a contrast. The relatively short move south made the difference largely because of the currents, which were still warm here. Shoris had told him that they went right round the Big Bay and cooled, and by the time they came back south past Fort they were cold. It would make living barefoot and in rags easier; Tyrin might pride himself on his hardiness – but he knew that two turns good living had softened him somewhat. Two turns – it scarcely seemed possible! Yet he was more than fourteen turns by almost half a turn and he had been one of the younger candidates when T'lan had first coerced him into coming with his sister to the Weyr! Why, it would not be long before Daenilth rose for the first time. Tyrin fondly hoped to have a chance to go to that hatching to see his family, and celebrate with Sh'rilla. First however there was the job in hand!

hHhHh

When the wailing siren went with a first warning of staccato wails, warning that Threadfall was expected, Tyrin looked with apparent scorn on the panicked hurry with which those few people still out rushed for the Hold gates. He turned instead to the cliffs on the other side of the river, calmly walking across the stone bridge and climbing to a spot he had previously marked. It was a ledge below an overhang, and could have comfortably accommodated four grown men; it was roomy enough for Tyrin to unroll his threadbare cloak and wrap himself in it full length on the rocky floor. The boy was tired; he had walked for a significant part of the night before last and had scouted for a good part of last night too. He knew where there were inhabitants along the cliff face, for he had seen the reflected light of glows. That was why he had picked this spot. Because of the way the cliffs lay, he knew he was mostly overlooked from the cave he assumed was held by the Holdless he was trying to contact – so they would soon know about him. There was nothing much he could do for the next few hours until Threadfall was over; so he settled himself to catch up on some sleep.

He was disturbed before he had even drifted into a first doze; jusy as the second warning's rising and falling note was heard.

"Mind if I join you?" Came a laconic enquiry.

Tyrin grunted.

"Help yourself. You're too late to get to the Hold now. Just don't wake me up by having a screaming fit if you can't stand the sight of Thread." He replied in a surly tone, and tucked his head under his rough blanket. The newcomer did not seem to know how to take a hint.

"You're new about here."

Tyrin grunted an affirmative; the man persisted.

"You don't care for the safety of the Hold then?"

"No."

"Are you with anyone, then?"

Tyrin sat up.

"Yes, sure, I'm with all my aunties and uncles and a conclave of Lords Holder. Can't you see them?" He made a mocking sweep of his hand about the depression – though he took the opportunity to observe the man thoroughly as he did so. What he saw was unprepossessing; his neighbour was of average height, dressed in faded but serviceable clothes and good boots; but his personal hygiene left much to be desired. His hair was dirty and matted, and he smelled rancid. His teeth were yellowed and rotting and his fingernails were ragged and filthy. Tyrin managed not to shudder, as the man digested his sarcasm.

"You don't have to be cheeky, brat." He said.

"Why not? You don't own me. I didn't ask you to come here asking nosy questions waking me up and being a flaming nuisance. I'll share my glory hole with you for Threadfall; but don't expect me to be friendly." Tyrin turned over again and lay down, his heart thumping. He'd seen this man go to the big cave – had he perhaps come to check Tyrin out? In any case, the man laughed.

"I like you kid – you've got guts. And you don't care for anyone. I bet you'd even push me off the edge if you really didn't like me, huh?"

"If you don't shut up you might just find out." Tyrin grunted. Though the question had been put carelessly, his harper-trained ear picked up that it was important. They must be testing him to see if he was ruthless enough to recruit! He pretended sleep; and the interloper settled into silence. Tyrin decided to risk sleeping for real; he knew he did not talk in his sleep – his dormitory mates would have been quick enough to rag him if he did – and if the man had wanted him dead, he could have run a knife into him long since. Tyrin relaxed; and was soon snoring gently.

hHhHh

Tyrin was glad to find that his well trained instincts concerning Thread were still intact even after a couple of turns living inside; he woke and sat up just a few moments before the 'all clear' sounded across the valley. He looked over at the man who had shared his shelter.

"You'll be off now, I guess." He said. The man laughed; it was not an altogether cheering sound.

"Why, laddie, I was hoping you'd accept my hospitality – in return for yours!" He said. Tyrin regarded him suspiciously.

"What's your game?" He asked. "I'm not so badly off I need to sell favours you know."

"I'm not that way inclined – and nor are my friends. I just think you might like the idea of earning a few marks easy like."

Tyrin gave him a very old-fashioned look.

"In my experience, there's no such things as easy marks." He retorted. "There's always a catch.

The man laughed again.

"I knew I liked you, kid." He said. Tyrin scowled but said nothing. The man went on, "You've a good sense of caution. My name's Rees. What's yours?"

"Call me Ty. It does." Shrugged Tyrin. He was loath to give his full name; but instinct suggested that he should tell as few lies as possible.

"Where are you from, Ty?"

"That's my business."

"Not if you want a job. Depends what you can do."

Tyrin scowled as he thought, quickly. A Harper trained lad would be good at telling stories; and if he let anything slip it would be a good idea to have prepared the way.

"I used to be up at the Harper Hall as an apprentice. There was a misunderstanding… there was a ranking girl involved."

Rees roared with laughter.

"Sure, I'd have thought you were a little young for that – good on you kid! Did she want to find out if Harpers really do have silver tongues?" He elbowed Tyrin in the ribs with a lewd wink, and Tyrin burned as much with anger and shame at letting him think ill of Kit as much as with embarrassment. Rees laughed again and led the boy towards his own cave.

"They're snotty shitheads up at the Harper Hall I'm hearing." He said. "We've another lad with us who came from there over nothing more than a misunderstanding, though he's out of the neighbourhood right now. His name's Horgey. Do you know him?"

Tyrin felt as though his stomach had been filled with ice water. He scowled even more deeply.

"Yeah, I know him." He growled. "He got me into the trouble – I got blamed too because the bitch's father wouldn't believe I only wanted to help her. Discredited me with my craft and my foster family. I'll not work with him – I might just fardling well kill him!"

The fury in the boy's tone was unmistakable; that it was directed at Horgey's bullying habits and attempted harming of Tyrin's friend Kit was beside the point. It lent credence to his story – and Tyrin knew that Horgey could not disprove it and might even believe it himself. Rees looked displeased.

"You'll keep your personal differences to yourselves." He said. "If you want to work for me that is. Harper boys are handy – you know how to spin a good yarn."

"You want to pay me to tell stories? I find that hard to believe." Tyrin scoffed as they entered the cavern. There were four other men in there, each as unkempt as Rees. They stared curiously. Rees introduced him.

"This here is Ty. He was mixed up in the same trouble Horgey was – but they like don't get on. If they start fighting, boys, kick the shit out of both of them."

The men nodded; and Tyrin fancied they'd be just looking for the opportunity. Almost he pitied Horgey; probably the boy knew nothing but violence. However, the lad had fallen in with renegades; and that made him a renegade too. He could have probably hoped for re-instatement if he had informed against them; but he hadn't. Presumably his grudge against other folk was just too great. Tyrin said, sullenly,

"I'll stay out of his way – if he'll stay out of mine. Now what's the job?"

Rees grinned.

"I guess you're in a good position to appreciate just how unjust some of the lousy pigs that are in charge really are." He began, Tyrin nodded emphatically. Rees continued, "We want to show them up as the grasping scorchers they really are, and so we want to spread around a few of the things they do. You'll know how to make such terrible things sound better."

"Or rather worse." Tyrin nodded. This was the way they were going to recruit him, then – let him believe that their rumours were truth and gradually bring him in as he became hardened. Had they done the same with Horgey? If so there was some justification for the boy's presence. He had a chip on his shoulder the size of a Queen egg to start with; and no one could accuse him of being over-blessed with the smarts!

Rees clapped Tyrin on the shoulder.

"You've got it laddie!" He said. "You have to exaggerate a bit to get these complacent holderfolk to listen to anything!"

hHhHh

Tyrin knew that he was going to have to be careful in reporting to Sorill. If Horgey was around, he'd pick up the fact that he was passing drum messages even if he couldn't follow them. And as for getting away, it was going to be difficult. Not only was he under the scrutiny of the five men – but each of them seemed to have at least one firelizard looking to him, even though they were all greens. Tyrin commented on it to Rees.

"You must do pretty well for yourselves to have firelizards." He said. Rees laughed. It was a sound that was beginning to get on Tyrin's nerves.

"Yes, well, we have our sources – and they're handy things to give to friends – if you get my drift."

Tyrin got his drift. This would be the favours Master Robinton had mentioned for those prepared to pass on the stories. He managed to look wistful.

"Will I be able to earn one?"

"If you do well. Horgey's due to get an egg now he's been with us for a while."

So, reflected Tyrin, Horgey had not got a firelizard yet. That at least was comforting – though he fancied that no firelizard would stay with the brutal boy. The sensitive little thing would be frightened **between** before long – and that would be the last anyone would see of it. Tyrin bit the inside of his mouth to hide his rage and horror at firelizard eggs being handed out willy-nilly without regard for their well being. After all, they were related to dragons! And he still had a problem of how to pass on information.

hHhHh

Fortunately for Tyrin, the group of renegades decided to test him. He was told a luridly scandalous story involving Lessa and Lord Larad of Telgar; and Rees took him into the Hold, dressed in better clothes than he had arrived in, to tell it. Rees had said that he wanted to hear Tyrin's style but the boy knew that this was a lie. The man wanted to make sure that Tyrin did as he was bidden so see if he was a plant. Tyrin considered the story, and told Rees that the best way to tell it was obliquely; for he'd get shouted down otherwise. And if it could be humorous, it would better make the point that the so-called leaders of Pern wasted their time in romps and pleasure. Rees had agreed, dubiously; and so Tyrin was at the Hold, in an ale maker's conviviality hall, his heart hammering like a drum. He looked casually around; Sorill was not obvious, but the boy picked him out in the shadows, having followed the boy in. He picked up a couple of sticks of firewood and beat a rapid drumroll on the table to gain attention. People turned; and Tyrin swept his cap off his head and laid out in front of him, then launched into an improvised adaptation of a well-known chanted ballad, changing situations to imply more modern protagonists and a less chaste setting. His double meanings soon had the crowd roaring with laughter, though not all had picked up who he might mean through the obscure references – as indeed Tyrin had hoped. As he chanted he drummed a beat; and between the verses he introduced his message into the variations.

"Five men – harper apprentice – firelizard favours – bring down leaders." This was all he had so far, a pitiful amount but better than nothing. He wondered if 'harper apprentice' was enough and painstakingly beat out Horgey's name in the ancient single letter sending manner used when names were necessary that had not been given their own codes. He did not know if Sorill knew it; Master Domick had let slip that it existed and had set Tyrin to learn it as a discipline measure for cheek some days later. However, he was a good enough harper to take it down and ask someone if needs be, though Tyrin, and returned to the consideration of his chant.

hHhHh

Rees was pleased with Tyrin's efforts. He knew who was supposed to be involved and so had had no trouble unravelling Tyrin's riddles; it did not occur to him that the boy might have deliberately made them too obscure. He did warn him that some holderfolk were dimglows and might need things a little more obvious; and Tyrin nodded meekly and promised to try. He was somewhat incensed that Rees had taken the marks he had earned that people had put in his cap; but the man told him that they all shared all good fortune, so he had to take it with as good a grace as possible. His share was now only a little more than a quarter of a mark – though it was enough to eat on. Those thirty-seconds sure did add up! Tyrin took himself off to bed at the back of the renegades' cave feeling quietly confident that he would soon find out everything, hopefully before Horgey returned form wherever he had gone. However, he had to consider the possibility that Horgey was carrying messages – and to whoever these scum were in touch with that could get them firelizard eggs. This had to be a co-ordinated effort for a definite reason for it was too well organised to be just a group of malcontents! They ate and dressed too well to be the layabouts they appeared, for all their dirt and unpleasant habits. Tyrin sighed, and let himself drift off. It would be another day tomorrow.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 Unexpected Rascals and More of Horgey**

Tyrin was not destined to get a full night's sleep this night either. He had long had the habit of waking at the slightest sound; and lay still, making himself breathe deeply and normally as he tried to work out what had disturbed him. It seemed to be stealthy movement. Tyrin lay, ready to react as someone approached him and leaned over; he caught the stench of rotting teeth and knew it was Rees. Still he forced himself to breathe deeply, wondering that he managed not to gag. Rees's voice whispered,

"He's deep out. Nothing short of an earth tremor'd wake him."

There were more stealthy sounds; then silence. Tyrin counted slowly to twenty, then rolled over, feigning movement as though he was dreaming. He peered through his eyelashes, but the cave was empty of people. Quickly he got up and wriggled to the cave mouth on his belly. The men were making their way down the path towards the river; and at the foot of the path a big dark mass was waiting. Tyrin clamped his hands over his mouth to stop himself gasping – for the bulk was a dragon! Two figures stood beside it, a stocky looking man and a fat shape that Tyrin knew only too well. Horgey! There would be bound to be trouble – but he could not avoid it now. There was no way of escape without being seen, and Tyrin had no illusions over the mercy of these people. They would kill him without a second thought; all he could do would be to brazen it out and bluff his way out of trouble. He had prepared the way for his story, and even if Horgey knew that his foster father was a dragonman, it was utterly believable that he could have been disowned from shame of his disgrace. Of course, R'gar would never do that – he'd want to know all the facts and give any son of his a chance to explain – and if need be atone and make good. But Horgey wouldn't know that. Tyrin did not think that Horgey even knew anything about his family; sure, he and his friends had helped with Mirrith – but Ferry had given the impression, hadn't he, that they'd just been picked at random! Tyrin watched and listened as the renegades approached the dragonrider below. Voices were kept low, but carried in the still, cold night air.

"How's it going?" the dragonrider's voice was harsh. Rees shrugged.

"These things take time. The seeds must be sown that the Benden Weyrleaders are no good. Our more up market friends will whisper as much to the Holders when they have their lizards; and when you've arranged whatever disasters you are going to arrange, then we can start spreading rumours that you were banished only to please F'lar's ego and that it's time for a change of leadership."

The dragonrider nodded.

"Don't presume too much." He warned. "What we plan is none of your business."

Rees shrugged.

"Suit yourself." He said. "But the stories we spread will be better for being tied to what you're up to. And since none of your lot could come up with anything convincing or anything more imaginative than linking Lessa with Larad, you need my imagination."

"You forget yourself." Said the dragonrider coldly. Rees laughed, and Tyrin noted delightedly that it grated on the rider as much as it did on him. Rees said,

"I used that old chestnut of yours to test out a new recruit, so it wasn't entirely wasted. Clever boy – you know him, Horgey."

"Oh?" the youth asked.

"Calls himself Ty – and I warn you, he blames you for his expulsion. Reckons that what you did left him tarred with the same brush. He's well sore at you!" he laughed again.

"Tyrin! Snotty little brat!" exploded Horgey.

The dragonrider interposed,

"Fascinating as I dare say all this family feeling may be to you, I have better things to do than to listen to the ancient history of your quarrels. Now are you going to take the food and lizard eggs and let me go, or not?"

"Certainly, certainly!" Rees assured him. "And you may be sure that the stories are spreading well – why at the Gather I heard two holders solemnly discussing how they would cope when N'ton decides that he can't be bothered to turn out to cover their land!"

"Good. Keep it going." Said the dragonrider. Tyrin lay, almost incandescent with rage. How DARE they so impugn the good name of dragonriders! Slurring Lessa was bad enough – but such gossip was common enough amongst those seeking titillation – but to suggest that they could not be bothered to do their duty was iniquitous! The boy realised that the men and Horgey were returning up the path, and hastily wriggled back to his place. He lay down breathing gently as they entered. Horgey's voice spoke out.

"Sleeping like a baby." He said. "Let me wake him, Rees – I owe him so much!"

"I told you I'd not have you fighting." Warned Rees. "You can enact a little payback later – when we've stowed this stuff."

Horgey chuckled; and Tyrin's heart sank. Well, he'd just have to live with a few bruises. He'd done it before!

hHhHh

Tyrin simulated sleep as footsteps approached him. He did not have to simulate the gasp of shock and pain as a booted foot jarred into his body.

"That'll do for starters, you dung!" Horgey's voice snarled, and he raised his foot to kick again. Tyrin rolled agilely clear, gasping again as he realised that the weak rib he had broken in the fight against Hasen and Dwinn had been damaged again. He could not worry about that, though – he rolled and stood in one movement as R'gar had taught him.

"Horgey! I'm the injured party – and I'd take it from your hide only Rees said not to!"

Horgey laughed.

"Rees changed the rules. He said I could put you in your place first!" he grinned evilly. Tyrin charged him, head lowered, winding the unfit boy. He danced back, hitting swift blows, keeping out of range of the boy's weight advantage. He was winning; then he was grabbed from behind, his arms twisted up behind him.

"Cheating!" He cried. Horgey grinned.

"What a shame." He said. "See, I don't believe your story – and Rees said he'd let me check it out."

The next few minutes were a haze of pain as the bully thumped Tyrin about the face. Dizzily the boy shook his head as he heard Rees' voice asking about his background.

"I told you." He mumbled, between trickles of metallic tasting blood. "It's all Horgey's fault. I'd have done well as a Harper else. They didn't believe me. They're no fardling good. Can't even tell when someone's telling truth. Lemme go. Lemme kill Horgey!"

Other questions were asked, and Tyrin answered them truculently. At last he was let go, and stood swaying, glaring belligerently at Horgey. Rees patted his shoulder and he swore.

"Nothing personal laddie." Said Rees. "Just wanted to check. Now if you kids lay a finger on each other, I'll fardling well kill the pair of you, got it?"

Both boys believed him and nodded. Tyrin however was certain that Horgey would try to find a way of hurting him; and besides, he had the information. He could leave any time he could get away. He went back to lie down, muttering, and rubbing some of his bruises.

hHhHh

Silence settled gradually on the cave, but Tyrin could not sleep. Everywhere he turned there seemed to be a bruise. In the end he got up and went to get a drink from the water butt. Briefly he contemplated making a run for it; but there was something about the way one of the men was lying that made him suspicious. If the man was not asleep, he'd be for it if he ran now! He limped back to his place, muttering imprecations towards Horgey; and finally managed to fall into a fitful doze. It seemed all too soon that the early morning sun sent bright winter shafts into the cave, waking him; and Tyrin groaned.

"Wake up – you're to stay and guard the cave!" Rees told him.

"I need a healer." Tyrin said sullenly. "Your blue-eyed boy has bust my rib."

"Let me see." Rees gave him no option, feeling the boy's ribcage with surprisingly gentle hands. He asked, "Does it hurt to breathe?"

"Not much."

"You've not punctured a lung then. I'll fix you up." Rees bandaged Tyrin with dirty strips of sheeting. It was not a skilful looking job; but it eased the pain. Tyrin nodded gratefully.

"What's the drill then?" he asked.

"We've – deliveries – to make." Rees told him. "You stay here and make sure no one takes our supplies. Horgey brought more food with him last night."

Tyrin grunted disinterestedly and watched them make their preparations for leaving. They carried a number of bags each of which appeared to contain pots that had been sitting by the fire. These were the firelizard eggs then! Tyrin's sharp eyes caught a pot that had been left, carefully concealed by Horgey near the back of the cave, still near the fire's warmth. Presumably that was the egg meant for the boy. Tyrin was willing to bet it was a green lizard and probably from a green clutch; judging by the wild stories he had heard of the treaties the late and unlamented Lord Meron had made with the Oldtimers, they were in the habit of providing inferior clutches and passing them off as solid goods! Greens only ever laid greens, he knew, but their clutches were numerous. Few enough survived of course, because they laid their eggs in silly places and the eggs were often swept away by waves or eaten by tunnel snakes. It was sad, but otherwise, Pern would be knee deep in green lizards. Their appetites were said to be as voracious as their draconic counterparts!

A wild plan was forming in Tyrin's mind. He needed to get back to Sorill with his news – why not take Horgey's egg with him! He'd give the others plenty of time to get away, then sneak out with the egg concealed in his tunic.

As Tyrin scrabbled in the sand in the warm pots, he could feel not one egg, but two! How like Horgey, he thought, to want to be greedy. Well, no reason Sorill shouldn't have one – though he supposed the journeyman ought to have both. Surely no one could grudge Tyrin one for his efforts and pains? The smaller one, perhaps with the rougher shell? Of course, if they were from a green's clutch, that one might not hatch – if either of them did. They'd certainly not survive without food, though; and just in case they were close, for both had striations, Tyrin packed plenty of meat as well as food for himself. He did not know how long he might have to hide before he could contact Sorill!

hHhHh

As Tyrin came out of the cave and started down the path, a heavy weight caught him on the back, and he went down, rolling over and over on the precipitous path as he tried to save his burden. He felt one delicate eggshell crack, and tears flooded unbidden down his face. Then he had stopped; and Horgey was looking down on him.

"I TOLD Rees you'd try to run!" he exclaimed exultantly.

"Yeah – I knew you'd try and kill me else." Tyrin managed. Horgey was staring at his tunic front, and reached down inside it.

"You stole my eggs! You filthy little turd, you stole my eggs – and broke them!" he shrieked. Twisting Tyrin's tunic collar until he was half strangling the boy, he drew his fist back to start hitting Tyrin all over again. Tyrin felt the rise of the same red rage he had felt during that previous fight; but he fought it back. He went limp as Horgey stood poised for his first blow; then kicked up with all his might. The blow caught Horgey in the midriff; and, off balance, he doubled, falling backwards. He landed on a spur of rock and Tyrin heard a sickening crack. Horgey went white.

"You've broken my back!" He whispered; then he fainted.

hHhHh

Tyrin wondered what to do. There was no Threadfall today so that dreadful fate would not befall the boy. Much as he hated and despised him, however, Tyrin found that he could not just let Horgey be. Painfully he crawled back to the cave and fetched a blanket and a water bottle for the injured bully. Horgey had come round as he returned.

"Ready to be quite the little healer, now, are you?" he managed to sneer.

"Shut up." Said Tyrin, tersely. "I don't like you; but I'd not leave you to die. I'll make you warm, and leave you water. Rees will have to help you – I'm too scared of what you might do or have done to me later to hang around. I'm sure you'll understand." He tucked the blanket around Horgey – and found his wrist gripped in a feeble grasp. There was terror in Horgey's eyes.

"He'll kill me!" he whispered. "Rees'll kill me if I'm crippled."

"Why? You've still got your voice." Tyrin didn't suggest, though it occurred to him, that a good sob story could be made out of Horgey's condition. Surely Rees wouldn't really kill one of his own? Horgey apparently disagreed.

"That's not the point! I'll be useless to him if I can't walk! He killed one of his men before that got a badly broken leg – I saw it!"

Horgey's terror was unfeigned. Tyrin shook off his hand.

"I'll tell the first cotholders I see that there's been an accident." He said. "I'll send them up to get you. All right?"

Horgey blubbered in gratitude and Tyrin felt sickened. He suspected that such feelings would not last if the boy became active again! Quickly he set off down the valley and soon encountered some people working on a vegetable plot. He blurted out his story of an accident, a fall, and declared that he had to let the boy's family know to give him the excuse not to return to the site of the accident with the cotholders. They had expressed concern, and the wife of the head man had insisted on giving him a cup of klah and bathing his wounds, convinced that he had fallen too and bravely pressed on to save his friend. Tyrin felt a hypocrite, and said so, insisting that the injured boy was nothing to do with him, that he had just slipped a little when investigating the boy who was lying there. He made the excuse that he MUST tell the boy's family to escape being made much of; besides, sitting warm and still was bringing on too great a lassitude.

Tyrin stumbled over the bridge towards the Hold and looked around for the small pavilion Sorill had set up to advertise his services and wares – but it was gone! Tyrin grabbed a passing drudge.

"The visiting Harper – where is he?"

The drudge shrugged, staring with the slack jawed lack of interest – or much understanding – that showed why he was unable to aspire to any other task than taking orders.

"Dunno – went off dragonback." He replied laconically, shaking Tyrin's hand off. "Gorra lot of work – leave us alone, huh?" He hustled off. Tyrin cursed fluently. Sorill had gone to report, and he had no way of knowing when he'd be back. Meantime he felt rather ill – his chest hurt, and his face, and he felt rather light-headed. He needed somewhere to hole up until Sorill returned; and he didn't want that to be in the Hold where maybe there were agents of Rees! He made his way back out of the outer compound. It was not cold; but he wanted to keep the single remaining egg warm. He had felt inside his tunic, and it still felt intact. It was the small, rough egg; and Tyrin wondered if it had not broken because it was solid shell and could not hatch. However, it had to be given the chance! Tyrin sighed made his way down to the river. On the sandy banks there was a quantity of driftwood, and the boy concentrated his aching thoughts on collecting a pile which he stashed near the bridge. The nearest stone piling was well above the water line; and as he suspected there was a snug niche beneath the span where he could curl up, and room to light a small fire on the strengthening horizontal member just above ground level. Tyrin struggled to get a small blaze going and built a mound of sand beside it for his egg. Then he laid his weary, aching head down and slept.

hHhHh

When Tyrin woke up, the sun had moved backward. At least, that was how his half-asleep brain registered the position of the watery sun. Then he realised that he must have slept the clock around! That would explain why he was so thirsty and hungry. He drank rapidly to wash the fur off his tongue, and slooshed his head in the river, wincing as he touched tender spots.

Then the Thread warning siren went. Tyrin was aghast – Thread was not due until the next day, and that was an extra fall because of one of the complications that caused Thread to fall in patterns only those skilled at mathematics were starting to understand. It was early! Unless…

Quickly he checked the little egg. Fortunately the mound still held some residual heat; he had made a big pile with a deep hole, and the stones around the fire had held the heat from the embers well. The striations were much, much more marked than they had been – he really had slept two days! Tyrin was glad of the big pile of driftwood he had cached, and soon had the fire roaring again. It was somehow comforting during Threadfall.

Thread had been falling for almost the entire length of Fall when Tyrin heard sounds from the little egg. He hoped that the meat he had taken hadn't spoiled too much! It seemed all right as he got it out with feverish haste, for the egg was rocking furiously. The shell seemed tough; but the little creature inside was a fighter, and a claw sliced through. Judiciously, Tyrin helped with the eggshell, then had a piece of meat ready for a gaping firelizard maw to still the ravenous hunger in the whirling orange eyes! Piteously the little creature creeled for more, and Tyrin fed it until the soft belly was growing distended. The little creature took enough interest in the world outside to give a disapproving hiss at the falling Thread, just feet from where they lay, then its eyelids drooped and it fell asleep on Tyrin's forearm. Gently he rubbed the little creature's headknob as he stared lovingly down at it. He, Tyrin, had Impressed a firelizard!

It was only as he stroked the lethargic little creature that Tyrin noticed that it was not what he had expected. He had been sure that whatever hatched would be a little green female; but this firelizard was not green! He - she – it? was pure white, like the little dragon Ruth. He (Tyrin decided that as Ruth was accounted male so this little creature's gender could be thus considered too) was no smaller, he thought, than regular Firelizard hatchlings – and he'd seen a few from clutches laid by Menolly's Beauty.

"What shall I call you then?" He asked, wonderingly. "You're a special firelizard – you need a special name. You're so soft!" Tyrin added as he stroked the silky skin. The little lizard quivered with pleasure. "You know" commented Tyrin "You're not really totally white. You sort of shimmer like – like a prism! That's what I'll call you – Prism!"

Prism chirped softly and started to snore. Tyrin grinned. What a life!

hHhHh

After Threadfall, Tyrin ventured cautiously out. He could see his journeyman colleague re setting his pavilion and made for him. He had almost reached the courtyard when Rees stepped out from behind a rocky spur.

"Not so fast!" he growled. "Now, where's Horgey – and what do you think you're up to?" he grabbed Tyrin's arm. Awakened, Prism almost fell from the boy's arm, and squawking aggressively between hisses launched himself at Rees' face. The man put up his arms instinctively and Tyrin projected strong thoughts of Sorill at prism as he screamed,

"RUN! I mean FLY!"

Taking his own advice he fled into the compound, and ran towards Sorill. Strangely the little white firelizard was already there. Then it dawned on Tyrin – he had gone _Between_ to find the man he had shown! Clever Prism! Sorill came forward as Tyrin almost fell into the tent; and there were sounds of an altercation and a thump. Sorill came in, nursing his hand.

"Where have you been?" He asked. "I've been half off my head worrying about you – great shells, boy, your face!"

"Looks worse than it is." Mumbled Tyrin. "Broken rib is worse. Like I said, Horgey was there. I've bad news, Sorill – it's Oldtimers doing it. They're paying Renegades with food, goods and firelizard eggs to put the Benden leaders down to people – and they're going to arrange some kind of accidents to make modern timers look bad and get people to call them back."

"Are you certain?" Sorill followed the garbled report perfectly. Tyrin nodded. Sorill said, "Then let's get out of here and report to Master Robinton straight away. I'll just arrange someone to take care of your smelly friend."

hHhHh

Tyrin had little recollection of the journey home; and on fellis and smeared with numbweed he drifted in and out of sleep as soon as he had given as detailed report as he could muster to the Masterharper. The Master had called him a 'good lad'; and he fell asleep smiling with Prism on his bed head.

hHhHh

When Tyrin came round, R'gar was there; and the boy threw himself into his father's arms. R'gar hugged him.

"If the man wasn't doing his duty to Pern I'd fardling well call your Masterharper out for risking you like that!" he growled. Tyrin shook his head.

"He had to have someone who could live Holdless." He said. "He'd have been irresponsible to send in someone untrained. It's what you always say, father – the age of the weyrling is less important than their ability and training."

"Only you and T'lan have ever had the temerity to quote me back at myself." R'gar sniffed. "I'm not happy. I worry about you, son. I don't like to see you being put into danger so young."

"Weyrlings my age fly Thread. I'm half a turn past my fourteenth birthday, father. I do what I'm trained to do. It was bad luck I ran into an old enemy. If he'd not been there it would have been no sweat." Tyrin told R'gar firmly. He appreciated having someone to worry about him – but he wanted to defend the Masterharper. "Please don't blame Master Robinton. We all do what we have to do. People who are afraid of Thread – who can't cope with the fear, rather – don't go for Impression. People who can't think on their feet don't volunteer for, uh, unusual Harper missions. They just play tunes."

R'gar grunted, somewhat mollified.

"I've been told something of what you found out, lad." He said. "For the record, I'm proud of you."

Tyrin grinned at him through sudden tears. R'gar cleared his throat and gestured at Prism by way of changing the subject.

"See you got a flutterbug too. Kind of unusual colour – but that's par for the course in our family."

Tyrin laughed.

"Too?" he asked.

"Lord Groghe gave one to T'lan – little queen, called her Merry. She's sweet, I suppose. Mirrith likes her. What's yours called? I've been feeding her."

"Her? Isn't it a him? I called him Prism." Tyrin asked.

"Oldive says her – at least nominally." R'gar said. Tyrin laughed.

"Oh well, if she was from a green clutch, I guess that follows." He said. "I look forward to introducing her to Merry."

"You won't I hope" said R'gar "Tell T'lan too much about how you got her. I don't intend telling her about your condition, she'd only try to rush down to look after you. As half the kitchen girls hear have been begging that privilege, I guess you could do without T'lan scolding and fussing you too. I don't like worrying her – and I've ascertained that you're fine. If wherry brained." He growled as an afterthought.

Tyrin agreed that it was an excellent idea to keep T'lan in the dark concerning his injuries!


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10 Tyrin Grows Up – in More Ways than One**

Tyrin heard by the drums that the renegades had been rounded up. He was pleasantly surprised to find that the Holder at Hold Gar must be a reasonable man, for he had not over-reacted and had tempered justice with mercy. Horgey, paralysed from the waist down, was adjudged to have suffered enough; the rest were sentenced to work for the community to pay off their debt for trying to cheat people with lies. Part of what they would earn would also go towards the upkeep of Horgey in the Healer Hall.

hHhHh

Tyrin went to see the Masterharper, with some trepidation. Robinton smiled down at his serious face and asked,

"What can I do for you, young Tyrin?"

"Sir, can't you re-instate Horgey as an apprentice? He can't hurt anyone now, but he can still play and sing."

Robinton blinked.

"Tyrin, he is not of the calibre to be a Harper. He has even sunk to allying himself with renegades." He explained. Tyrin nodded quickly to show he understood, but said,

"Sir, I know that. But the impression I got when we were in that cave was that he had known nothing but rejection and violence. He was scared of being killed by Rees, but – well, it seemed as though he accepted the casual cruelty as normal, like he'd grown up with it. I guess that's why he so wanted a firelizard – and I even took that from him. I meant it for Sorill, sir, by the way, I didn't mean to Impress Prism – though I'm glad I did!" he ended a little defiantly.

The Masterharper laughed, not unkindly.

"Your compassion does you credit." He said. "And I do see your point. But see mine! Maybe if I re-instate Horgey, he'll behave himself out of gratitude – and maybe he'll feel resentful at being pitied and make more trouble. I can't take the risk. However, if you want to take him some practice instruments for him to play on, that's up to you."

"Thank you sir." Tyrin could see what the Masterharper meant; Horgey had been very bitter at having to owe his life to Tyrin. But if T'lan could get L'rilly acting reasonably, maybe he, Tyrin could help Horgey. It was time he grew up – and Tyrin had noticed that this was often a sudden transition linked to a change in circumstances, such as Impression or making Journeyman. Perhaps with time to contemplate, Horgey would come to terms with life. More than likely, he'd just hate Tyrin worse for causing his paralysis; but perhaps he'd accept that Tyrin did want to help make the ordeal more bearable.

hHhHh

Horgey was not pleased to see Tyrin as a visitor to his sick room.

"Come to gloat, have you?" He growled.

Tyrin shook his head.

"I never meant to break your back." He said. "I was just fighting back. Like it was you pushing me broke the lizard egg. I Impressed the other – I guess you'll resent that, too, though she is a sport."

He called Prism and she popped out from _Between _and snuggled on his shoulder, crooning. Absently he rubbed her head knob. Horgey stared.

"White – like the runt dragon! She should have been mine, though!" he added resentfully. "I wish you'd killed me when you had the chance. This is worse than being dead – it's like being a baby!"

"You wanted to live out there on the cliff. You were afraid Rees would kill you!"

"I didn't know just how much you'd done to me you son of a wher!"

"My sister's crippled." Said Tyrin. "I know she can move her legs some, but she had to have help with… hygiene. I had to take care of her from when I was nine turns, so I do know something of what it's like. At least you don't bleed like girls do."

"Whadd'ya mean?" Horgey asked suspiciously.

"Every month, girls bleed down there for several days. It's something to do with having babies I think." Said Tyrin vaguely. "It's all very messy and horrible, and it makes them bad tempered."

"You're putting me on."

"No – honest! I couldn't make up anything that daft-sounding, could I now!" asseverated Tyrin. Horgey snorted.

"I don't care about your sister anyway. It's your fault I'm here. It's your fault I joined that lot, too – I'd nowhere else to go!"

"Shards, man, it's not my fault you chose to try to beat me up – and decided to pick on Kit too!" exclaimed Tyrin, exasperated. Horgey gave a crow.

"So she is something to you!"

"Yes – now. I got to know her after you attacked her. At the time I'd only been helping her out of the ditch. She'd fallen in and her worthless sister had left her there."

"Quite the little goody helpful, aren't you?" Horgey sounded quite poisonous. Tyrin shrugged.

"I work on the principle that if you are nice to people, they'll mostly be nice back. I had to learn that when I had Sharilla to care for. I could be slung out of places on my own account and not care, but I couldn't let them throw her out. Anyway, I brought you some music and some instruments. It's something to do. I'll take you out in a wheeled chair when it's fine – but not because I feel guilty. I don't. I feel sorry that you had a rotten childhood and grew up hating everybody because I guess that's more uncomfortable than not being able to walk. But I don't have to take the dung you're flinging at me. Good day to you!" And with that, Tyrin walked out.

hHhHh

Ferry and the others could not see why Tyrin was wasting his time being nice to Horgey; and they told him so. Tyrin said,

"How can I hold a grudge against a man that's been crippled – and through my action, no matter how unintentional? It would be childish. Besides, he'll be around the place. We have to accept that we'll see him from time to time. It would be better for all concerned if we could manage to be at least civil to each other."

Ferry stared at him.

"Jays, Tyrin, when did you suddenly become a master?" He asked in dismay. "You sound like a grown-up."

The others assented, and Tyrin felt them distancing themselves slightly. He hid the hurt and answered quietly.

"I guess that it must be because I'm almost a man. It lacks but half a turn until I'm Turned fifteen, you know – and I think this thing with Horgey has just changed me a little. Sorry!"

They disclaimed; but there was doubt in their voices. Tyrin tried not to be disappointed. He was, after all, growing away from his comrades. He had been able to tell them something about his mission; but it was Harper business, and not for general broadcast. All he had said was that he had been asked to accompany Sorill and use his ears, and had been so unfortunate as to meet Horgey. They had been truly envious of his Impression of Prism, and had loyally declared that her unusual colour showed that her owner was special! Tyrin had laughed but been pleased. Now he sighed inwardly, but reached out a hand.

"I'm not changed, inside, you know." He added. "You know how moody I can be – I just got scared because I might have accidentally killed him. Somewhere along the line, I got pretty strong – and he's not that much taller than me now. Be nice – I need someone to be!" he pulled a comical face, and he felt the mood relax.

"We understand." Anslas told him. Bless, him, thought Tyrin, Anslas would say that even if he didn't – the boy's quiet loyalty was always a comfort.

Kit sniffed.

"You're too nice." She opined. "But what you say goes, I guess. Right, fellas?"

The others nodded..

"No good will come of it though." Duthi said predictably.

"It's no good borrowing trouble." Shoris told him, a little sharply. "Tyrin is right, though I hate to admit it. We have to see things in perspective. I guess I learned that early at the seahold – you have to grow up quick when you're putting your life on the line every day at sea. Like weyrlings, huh, Tyrin?"

Tyrin nodded.

"Impressed ones, anyway." He modified.

hHhHh

Life, on the whole, settled back to normal. Tyrin got used to feeling slightly aloof from the younger boys, and applied himself to his work with vigour. He worked assiduously on his harp in every spare moment, thrilling to see and feel it take shape under his tools. He had chosen to hollow the sounding box from solid wood in order to carve the shape of a dragon's body from it, and had sacrificed the marks he had earned by making simple instruments for the Winter Fair to buy exactly the wood he wanted. He knew exactly what he wanted to do; the base and sounding box would be the body of a dragon, with a gracefully curved neck and head rising from it. This, plus a spar to represent the leading edge of the wing would form the long support, the long ears acting as a brace. Neither neck nor wing edge spar would be strong enough alone; but forming a triangle would make it so. The wing spar would continue as the top and would take the wires; and would curve down towards the tail that would join it back to the body. Tyrin had done all the calculations of the stresses involved as well as the pitch of each wire, and was quite satisfied with the result. He was enjoying working with the rich bronzey wood, and reflected that he might do well to see what tips he could pick up from H'llon next time he visited High Reaches. Melth would be growing well by now, and H'llon would have sorted himself into a routine. Tyrin sniffed hard, suddenly. He did miss everybody still – maybe he was not as grown up as he had thought! Still, there was soft little Prism who loved him unreservedly and demanded attention as often as possible. Tyrin loved to rub her head knob when she butted against him and feel her soft head snuggle up against his cheek as she settled down to sleep beside him at night. No one could have a dearer little friend than this!

hHhHh

Master Jerint professed himself to be satisfied by Tyrin's efforts, and adjured the boy not to get impatient over the finishing.

"Remember to smooth and polish everything." He said. "Don't spoil it for want of effort – though I hardly have to tell you that, do I?"

Tyrin shook his head.

"No, sir. I want to use this harp. I'll put everything I can into it!"

The Master Instrumentcrafter laughed and patted the boy kindly on the shoulder. Tyrin's enthusiasm was encouraging amongst so many who only wanted to be able to turn out instruments for marks or just good enough to play on.

hHhHh

Master Jerint was not the only master to be pleased with Tyrin. Domick was pleased with the way the boy worked his tunes over and over until he was satisfied – it had been a long time since Tyrin had turned in a tune that had needed a lot of work on it. Once he had learned the principles behind tunecrafting, there had been no stopping him. His enthusiasm carried him on where many others would have flagged; and his stubbornness enabled him to push through the frustration barrier when everything seemed to be going wrong. Domick appreciated hard work; but it was nice that Tyrin had the talent to back it up too.

Even the irascible Master Morshall professed himself 'not displeased' with Tyrin, almost a first for the Master who had been soured from years of teaching basics to often unreceptive and always scatterbrained small boys; and Master Olodkey was well satisfied with the boy's progress on the drums as reported by journeyman Rokayas. Master Arnor, in records, had no fault to find with Tyrin – the boy was quite happy to make his own reed writing sheets, or accept H'llon's rejects and did not trouble the short sighted, short tempered master. Indeed, because the boy had learned to value his own writing materials, he was more careful with the Hall's than most other apprentices! Also, as Tyrin wanted to note down his own tunes in the most efficient way possible, he took note of the comments the master made. He did not agree with everything he was taught; for Master Arnor was almost paranoid about small writing, to the extent that it became almost illegible. However, the Master passed Tyrin's hand as acceptable – the work he had done previously for R'gar had helped with that. And Tyrin genuinely enjoyed the challenge of trying to decipher ancient writings – which Master Arnor grudgingly let the boy help with when he found out that he was willing and very capable gave him more responsibility with the warning that if he abused it, he, Arnor, would see that extra hide was to be had from Tyrin's own skin. Tyrin had grinned and accepted the admonition cheerfully; and as yet the crusty master had had no cause for complaint.

hHhHh

Tyrin was oblivious to the fact that he was one of the more approved of senior apprentices. He knew that he worked hard; but as he enjoyed it, gave little more thought to it. He cheerfully helped the younger boys, not just his own friends but newer intakes; and journeyman Sorill said laughingly that soon he'd be out of a job because of Tyrin taking on the teaching duties.

Tyrin laughed. The shared danger had made a friend of Sorill; and the boy replied,

"So long as I get the extra marks too! Seriously, Sorill, I enjoy helping – and the youngsters are less in awe of me than of a fully fledged Journeyman, so they learn their lessons instead of being nervous about minding their manners."

"You keep a good distance, though."

Tyrin shrugged.

"One day I'll make journeyman, I hope. I may be teaching some of these lads for real if I make it within the next couple of years – and I'd rather not have to have them learn a totally new way of treating me. I can be informal now – but I guess I have to accept this too as training."

Sorill shook his head.

"Stop thinking so fardling much and enjoy yourself!" He chuckled. "There's the Spring Gather due – and I bet you've managed a few saleable items as well as that fardling harp of yours. I'll introduce you to a nice girl who'll take your mind off work for an hour or two!"

Tyrin blushed. He was not unaware that he had been the subject of admiring glances from some of the support staff; he was a nice looking lad who was starting to fill out well into a man's shape. His voice had descended to a lower pitch almost overnight after the adventure at Hold Gar and Master Shonagar had been muttering comments that there might well be a definite improvement once it had settled down.

"I know lots of nice girls." He hedged.

"Yes, I notice you doing a lot about it." Scoffed Sorill.

Kister, who happened to be there, nodded.

"Yes, it's 'bout time you discovered girls, Tyrin." He agreed.

Tyrin burned!

"What for?" he demanded. He could not in honesty say that he had not been attracted to plenty of girls so far – he'd just been too shy to do anything about it. He just felt belligerent about the idea of having his love life sorted out by his friends!

Kister looked at him; and Tyrin looked away.

"I can manage my own affairs." He muttered. Sorill laughed.

"Sure – but most of us need a little help to get started!" he said. "That's why I want to introduce you to Traysa – as your apprenticeship, if you like. She's a specialist in teaching, er, techniques!"

Tyrin looked outraged.

"I'm not going to pay to be mauled by some ageing harridan!" he cried. Sorill caught Kister's eye; and they both roared with laughter.

"Come and meet her." Sorill suggested, wiping tears from his eyes. "She'll take the experience on account if I vouch for you. We really can't leave this any longer – your pomposity factor is getting too pronounced, and we need to excise it!"

hHhHh

Tyrin was dragged off, protesting weakly, to a cot set outside the Hold compound toward the Beasthold cavern. The door was answered by a stunningly lovely young woman somewhere in her mid twenties. Tyrin had never seen anyone lovelier and his mouth fell open. Her long, lustrous chestnut hair fell unconfined to her waist and her eyes were a deep warm blue. Even her voice was lovely, though untrained.

"Good afternoon." She said. "Rather a lot of you for just poor little me!"

Sorill grinned.

"We're just delivering Tyrin, Traysa." He said. "He's a little shy and needs to be educated. He'll be able to pay after the fair."

Tyrin tried to protest that he didn't want to go through with this at all, but somehow his voice failed him. Kister and Sorill slipped away as Traysa ushered him into her cot.

hHhHh

"I'm happy to meet you, Tyrin." She said in her deep, thrilling voice. "Aren't you the one who writes tune with Master Domick?"

Tyrin nodded.

"I need to write." He managed. "It just sort of comes.!"

Traysa laughed. It was a happy, warm sound, and Tyrin blushed at his own thoughts.

"We all must do what our talents lead us to do." She said. "Klah?"

"Please." Tyrin nodded. "Can I fetch water for you?"

She laughed again. She seemed to find everything amusing – but Tyrin knew somehow that she was not laughing at him.

"What a nice boy you are." She said. "Thank you, I've plenty of water for now."

Tyrin sat sipping his klah, and under Traysa's skilled questioning found himself telling her all about himself. He flushed.

"How rude I'm being!" he exclaimed. "Babbling about myself! Tell me about you!"

"Oh, there's little enough to tell." She said. "I was born in the Hold here, and grew up hearing the music. They didn't take female apprentices then – only Menolly because she's special." She sighed, then laughed. "Don't think I resent her," she said. "I rejoice for her for her good fortune. But she came a little late for me. I wanted to be near the music – and as I have other talents – " she smiled wickedly at him, and Tyrin found himself grinning back "- I found I had a niche for myself. I share this cot with my mentor, and now I can keep her to repay her for all she taught me. That's about it!" She laughed again, and her dancing eyes held Tyrin's. He felt himself grow hot as she smiled and started to undo her long blue gown.

hHhHh

Much later Tyrin sighed with happy lassitude. Kister and Sorill had been right – he felt more relaxed than he had done in a long time.

hHhHh

Tyrin's studies suffered for a while after his introduction to Traysa; however, a limited supply of marks and the odd disapproving comments from Master Domick brought him to his senses. Traysa was truly intoxicating, but there was his harp to finish. And if he thought of her rich tresses as he smoothed wood much the same colour it was only briefly. After all, she had taught him what to do; and if Feena in the kitchen lacked Traysa's beauty and skill, she was more comforting in that she thought Tyrin to be wonderful. Tyrin felt mildly guilty about this; but he knew he was not Feena's first particular friend, and would be unlikely to be her last. And she was even more relaxing than Traysa, for she never objected to rubbing his shoulders before they loved. She was also free – a strong consideration for a purse-pinched apprentice!

hHhHh

Tyrin did well out of the Spring fair with a number of small instruments for sale – pipes and drums for the most part, and his second harp. He scrupulously paid Traysa what he owed her, and thanked her for the credit, then fled before her beauty made him ask to spend more on time with her. She made his blood race so! Kister declared him boring for acknowledging that it was lust, not love that made him feel so – but Tyrin had seen love between his parents and his foster parents. Regretfully he realised that love was a two way process; and he was part of Traysa's bread and butter. Besides, his infatuation with her was causing trouble between him and Kit. She had been making some very pointed comments – and Tyrin liked her far too well to risk losing her friendship, even over something so trivial. He told her so, and was treated to a diatribe worthy of Y'lara over what might be considered trivial. He was glad she'd not found out about Feena too!

Kit, however seemed to have forgiven him by the Gather, and she and the others persuaded Tyrin to enter the dancing competition. Tyrin was proud of his stamina, and felt he had done well to be the penultimate dancer to drop out from exhaustion. His friends cheered wildly and the winner, a fosterling from the Hold jigged for a few moments more, then collapsed beside him in convivial tiredness. All in all it had been a good day.

hHhHh

What Tyrin did not know was that the best of the day was yet to come. He trooped in with the others to supper, almost too tired to eat; to find that postings were to be made. He summoned the energy to cheer when Kister was announced as a new journeyman; and wondered why as Kister walked the tables, Sorill left his place and came to stand beside Tyrin. Dimly he heard the Masterharper's voice announcing his own name, saying that he would remain at present in a teaching capacity at the Harper Hall; and Sorill was grinning at him.

"Walk, Tyrin Walk! Walk, Tyrin, walk!" his friends were chanting in amazed happiness, clapping to the rhythm of the traditional chant. Tyrin got shakily to his feet.

"But – I'm barely Turned fifteen!" he blurted.

"You've worked hard enough!" Sorill declared. "C'mon – walk!"

And Tyrin walked.

_A/N I have answered a review about promotion to Journeyman that queried Tyrin's musical ability and stated that Genius is rare. It is; though of course Harpers come from all over and sometimes genius may be found in many people at the same time and may be stimulated by the genius of others - the musical flowering of the late eighteenth century on Earth for example. I do not however claim that Tyrin is in any respect a genius; he's very good but he's not a genius. He is however very good at teaching and understanding the problems of others; it is for THAT he is being asked to walk; just to make it clear. Harpers serve in more ways than one._


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter11 More to Being a Harper than Just Playing Tunes**

It was immensely satisfying to be a journeyman. Tyrin knew that his masters felt that he had really achieved the grade as a result of his hard work over the last couple of turns, and promptly fell to helping out the little boys to achieve their potential too. He was working at first under Master Morshall; and soon found that the irascible man was quite happy to shunt off those he found inadequate onto Tyrin! Tyrin resented this a little, especially as some of those not wanted by Morshall hoped that a young journeyman would be a softer touch. They were mistaken. Tyrin took a gentler approach than Master Morshall, welcomed by those sensitive lads who had frequently been reduced to tears by the old man's rough tongue – but he would accept no fooling about, and soon became known for setting the most creative discipline in the whole Harper Hall!

hHhHh

Tyrin had been teaching for two months when the Masterharper summoned him. Tyrin went with a heavy heart, convinced that he had failed; he had been reduced to putting one boy on a water diet twice for insolence, and was despairing of ever breaking through the lad's truculence. He entered the Masterharper's room, and blurted out,

"Sir, I'm sure he will settle in time. I've only got to find out why he's such a flaming nuisance, I'm sure, and then I can work on him!"

Master Robinton blinked.

"Did you think I sent for you to discuss a discipline problem, then, Tyrin?" he asked.

"I assumed… I've been failing with Felimmy. I thought you'd want to haul me over the coals because I seem to be doing little but set him punishment."

"Never assume, Tyrin – look at the facts before you make up your mind. Harpers do NOT fall into the trap of making hasty assumptions!"

The Masterharper's tone was admonishing, but his eyes twinkled and his mouth twitched at one side. Tyrin relaxed.

"I felt that I deserved to be chewed out, sir. But I don't know how to proceed any better."

Master Robinton regarded him intently.

"But did you not just tell me?" He asked mildly. "Find out what's causing his bad behaviour, then, er, work on him!"

Tyrin flushed.

"You trust me to do it right, sir?" He asked.

"Of course. That is why you are teaching. You have a shrewd understanding of how people think, especially young lads. I'm sure you will succeed – and if you do not, I doubt anyone else would do a lot better." He added dryly. "But perhaps you will permit me to address the reason I summoned you."

Tyrin flushed again and hastily apologised. The Masterharper waved his apology aside, and waved Tyrin to a seat all with one graceful movement of his hand. Tyrin sat, and looked up expectantly. Robinton spoke.

"I need you to travel – it is a temporary post, I feel that you are more useful based here in the long term, as well as having the opportunity to pursue your studies with Domick in tunecrafting." Tyrin managed not to heave a sigh of relief. Master Domick had been somewhat more unbending since Tyrin had made Journeyman, and had invited the boy to join him and one or two others to play for sheer pleasure in the evenings, trying out each other's new tunes. Often Menolly was there, and her melodies were a sheer delight to play – though Tyrin had a sneaking preference for Domick's more intricate tunes. Master Robinton continued. "I would like you to go to a small Hold named Sunnyvale, just north of Fort Weyr. It is Held by three families, though with intermarriage the lines are somewhat blurred – which makes the rivalries there all the more petty. The previous Harper died in what are best described as – unusual – circumstances." He was watching Tyrin narrowly.

"Unusual, sir?" Tyrin frowned.

"The man was in his thirties – no more. He apparently died of some disease. I obtained no truly satisfactory report from the holders." The Master told him. "I want you to find out all you can in addition to schooling the half dozen or so children that there are."

"Half a dozen only? That should leave plenty of time for investigating." Tyrin was amazed. He had had classes of close to thirty boys at times, though a dozen was more usual.

Robinton smiled.

"Yes, Rannarish liked the free time – he used to paint rather well. His effects included a number of very fine studies of flowers in the valley. I gather he used to take himself off alone quite frequently."

"I wonder why ….well, I suppose it's no use speculating, but do you suspect foul play, sir?" asked Tyrin.

"Tyrin, I do not know what I suspect. Remember what I said about not making assumptions – keep an open mind and see what you find."

"Very well, sir. I'll do my best. But what about Felimmy while I'm gone? I'd not like him to get unsettled by being with someone else."

The Masterharper smiled.

"Then perhaps you'd better take him." He suggested. "Perhaps you'll find him useful."

Tyrin pulled a wry face; and nodded in acquiescence.

hHhHh

Tyrin broached the suggestion to Felimmy that he accompany him on his temporary assignment. The boy's face showed a flash of interest, then settled into its accustomed sullen lines.

"Why?" He asked. "And why me not one of your goody goody favourites?"

Tyrin counted slowly to ten.

"Because I like the other teaching Journeymen too much to wish you onto them." He retorted. Felimmy scowled, and Tyrin added, "Felimmy, you might go out of your way to be troublesome, but you are bright. Look, something strange happened to the last Harper, and I could use someone who knows how to use their brains – even if you do usually use them for causing the maximum possible disruption."

"You mean it? You think I can help?"

Shards, thought Tyrin, here's the most enthusiasm I've ever had from the brat.

"Yes, I do." He said, knowing that if the boy was enthusiastic he probably would be helpful. "But I have to warn you, Felimmy, that there may be some danger. We don't know how the other Harper died – or even if he was killed."

Felimmy shrugged.

"I don't care about danger." He said.

"Well, don't go around provoking it." Said Tyrin dryly. "I like my skin as whole as possible – and so does Prism."

The little white firelizard chirped responsively from his shoulder, and Tyrin stroked her head lovingly. He saw the boy looking longingly at her and said,

"Here, you stroke her. If we're working together I'll probably be asking you to feed her sometimes."

Felimmy reached out and tentatively touched the little creature. Prism pushed into the caress, and his face softened.

"She's so soft." He said. "You Impressed her while you were on a dangerous mission before, didn't you?"

Tyrin grinned.

"Well, it wasn't supposed to be that dangerous." He said. "It got a little out of hand and I picked up a few pretty colours around the face!" His bruises had not long faded from his cheekbones, and he still felt a little self-conscious about his exploits. Felimmy however seemed to regard the adventure as admirable, as well as to envy Tyrin his impression of Prism. However, at least as a journeyman, there was less comment about Tyrin's ownership of a firelizard though her unusual colouring drew some remarks. He added, "There was me, green, blue, brown and even bronze in places fading to gold, and Prism just a reflection of all the colours in pale!" he grinned.

"I see all the colours in her – is the little white dragon like that too?" Felimmy asked. Tyrin nodded.

"Yes, Prism is just like a miniature Ruth, only she doesn't seem to be any smaller than any others her age. There's less variation in size amongst firelizards. Anyway, Felimmy, we can talk more on the way – we've both got bags to pack."

Effectively dismissing the boy, Tyrin reflected to his amazement that he'd been able to have a civil conversation with his worst troublemaker – maybe the boy just needed a more active role and found it unbearable to concentrate so much on theory. It was not for lack of brains, for Tyrin had found him quick enough when he could be bothered to concentrate. Why ever was he here, mused Tyrin, when he plainly hated all the exercises set, and apparently did no better in any of the other classes from what Tyrin could find out from the other Journeymen and Masters!

hHhHh

Although Felimmy was not forthcoming on the day's ride to the small valley Hold, Tyrin sensed a contentment in him that had not been there before. However, he decided not to push the matter, and was content to chat about the care of firelizards with the boy. He laughed off questions about his own exploits, and explained that such things required discretion – as he expected discretion from Felimmy about any possible underlying reasons for this mission. The boy seemed unmoved by the trust being put in him; but Tyrin thought that he would keep quiet.

hHhHh

The Hold was well named; the little valley was a sun trap, running east-west, the lower wall to the south ensuring day long sun. The entrance to the Hold was set in the steep, south facing wall of the valley, and was close by a spring that trickled through the fields of bovines and ovines. The steep wall had been marred by a landslip from which the spring sprang, its older course visible in places. The landslip must be quite recent, Tyrin thought, for there was as yet little plant growth on it. Yet in such an apparently verdant place, the animals seemed to be in terrible condition, skinny and ill looking, their coats patchy and moulting in great patches. Tyrin caught Felimmy's eye. The boy shrugged.

"Something peculiar going on here." He commented.

"Indeed." Tyrin agreed. "Let's listen more than we talk at first – we're about to be met by that man. Perhaps he will offer us some explanation."

hHhHh

The man who came gladly towards the two lads looked disconcerted at Tyrin's youthful visage and looked doubtfully at the boy's journeyman knots.

"Are you our replacement Harper?" he asked.

"I'm here until a permanent replacement is found." Tyrin told him. "I'm Tyrin; this is my assistant, Felimmy."

"Pleased to meet you." The man took Tyrin's formally outstretched hand. "My name is Doccar – I am the head man here. We have – problems, which I hope your successor will be able to help us with.". He sighed. Tyrin pulled his brows together.

"It may be that I may be able to help without you having to wait for a permanent replacement." His clear young voice was steady. "I can see that you have trouble with your beasts."

Doccar sighed again.

"Alas – they are dying every day." He declared. "They vomit uncontrollably and their fur comes out in clumps. None of us trusts the other any more – we are at loggerheads with each family suspecting the other. How can a boy like you sort out such a problem?"

"I already have an idea." Said Tyrin grimly. "tell me, have you a well within?"

Doccar looked surprised.

"Of course." He said. "We need an indoor supply for Threadfall."

"You do not drink from the spring at all?"

"No, only the cattle drink from it. Are you suggesting that someone is poisoning the spring? Is that how it is done?"

"Not someone." Tyrin told him. "But I see that the spring has moved. Did the trouble start after the landslip?"

Doccar stared at him, and scratched his head.

"Yes – yes, it was. You're right!" declared the Headman. "But – what is causing it?"

"I don't know exactly – but I know that there are things in mines that can poison water. I have a friend from the Minercraft Hall." Tyrin told him, wishing that he had paid more attention to the young Weyrling he had heard this from.

"My father is a miner." Felimmy spoke up. "There are several minerals that have this effect. I had forgotten until you said, Tyrin – but this is a sign miners look for. Look, the vegetation by the spring is yellowish. It is as poison as the water – but there is a good lode of it there. It could bring your Hold many marks, Holder Doccar, if you contact the Minercrafthall. But you will have to water the animals from the well and be sure not to drink from the river below where the spring enters it. Many of them may yet recover."

Doccar glanced at Tyrin for confirmation.

"We are fortunate that Felimmy has such specialist knowledge." Tyrin acknowledged the boy's words with a nod. "I think we can test this as well by confirming that Rannarish spent much time out of the Hold and doubtless drank from the spring?"

"Yes, he did. And he too died in agony, vomiting and tearing out his own hair." Doccar confirmed. "You mean we have been suspecting each other for nothing?"

His tone was so dismayed that Tyrin was hard put to it not to laugh. He said,

"But is that not good, Holder Doccar? It is surely better to find that suspicions are unfounded than to be forced to lay blame at the door of someone you know well?"

"I suppose so." Doccar conceded. "I will gather all the people together so that you might tell them the good news – and I will issue orders that the animals are all watered from the well or the river from now on."

hHhHh

Tyrin grinned at Felimmy as Doccar preceded them to the Hold.

"I am glad I bought you along!" He said. "I always got the impression that your family were musicians even if not Harpers." He added.

Felimmy scowled.

"My father wanted to be a Harper." He said. "My uncles all sing and play, and my father wanted me to have the chance to be a Harper. Only I'd rather pick my own life, not live the one he wanted."

Now we have it, thought Tyrin.

"There's more to being a Harper than playing music." Tyrin told him. "Though it's a good way to travel as a journeying player."

"I guess." Felimmy conceded. "But I'm just not musical. I don't understand half of what I'm supposed to be doing."

Tyrin stared at him.

"Felimmy, you could be my best student if you did the work!" He said. "You always answer correctly when I pick on you – and you always seem to understand. If there are things you don't understand, it's my fault for not explaining them properly. You have to ask me!"

"Oh, I always understand the things you tell us. But all the theory my father tried to teach me before I came seems so muddled."

"If your father learned for himself, he never got taught the right way to pass it on because he never learned the order that's best to learn things. Don't you worry about what he taught you if it confuses you. Leave it to us at the Hall – and soon it'll all fall into place. Was that your father who visited a couple of sevendays ago?" The boy nodded, and Tyrin continued, "I was concerned that he seemed to be grilling you. If he's not a Harper he has no right to judge your progress – any more than I'd expect to interfere with any of his mining apprentices."

Felimmy looked relieved, and close to tears.

"He told me I was doing badly and letting him down!" He said.

Tyrin snorted.

"You're not letting me down – even when you're being a nuisance." He told the apprentice. "If you'd only do a little work as well occasionally you'd be doing very well indeed. Now, let's postpone this discussion – I've got a Hold full of hidebound and suspicious people to convince that they're wasting their time hating each other – and people much prefer casting aspersions at each other than having a simple explanation." He finished gloomily, and Felimmy grinned at him.

hHhHh

The Holders were every bit as hard to convince as Tyrin had feared. Chief amongst the sceptics was an elderly and very deaf auntie who spoke out her disbelief in the loud and disconcerting tones of the truly deaf. Firmly he reiterated his belief and pointed out that there could be no harm in trying to save some of the herdbeasts by giving them well water and not letting them feed near the spring. He reminded the assembled people that he was empowered as a Harper to legislate; and told them that he strongly advised them to overcome their differences. He also pointed out that their mutual co-operation would help them to exploit the wealth of mineral that lay buried. The appeal to greed was, as Tyrin had suspected, more effective than an appeal to better nature; but he led an impromptu singsong as well to help to bring the small group together again.

hHhHh

Tyrin knew that there was a lot of work to be done to heal the rifts of suspicion and spite that lay between the three families. Doccar had a long task ahead of him, though he seemed sensible enough. Meanwhile, Tyrin had every intention of officiating at the marriage of two young people whose parents were from different lines and whose romance had been under threat by these troubles. As an outsider, he could not be accused of taking sides; and he hoped that it would be a symbol for the future. At least the holders seemed to work together to perform necessary tasks at times like Threadfall; and the groundcrews covered the small valley well as Tyrin found when he joined them. The folk seemed gratified that their young Harper should take risks with them; and Tyrin found himself included in the party that followed, plied with more wine than was good for him! He managed to accept drinks impartially from all the men, and found from chance remarks that the rivalries were largely owing to the jealousies of two women and their cronies! Tyrin congratulated himself that he had steered clear of serious female entanglements so far – they seemed to cause difficulties for their menfolk. Maybe, he thought, it would blow over quicker when the animals improved and the majority saw how ridiculous the whole situation had been. But somehow he fancied it could be a little more complex than that!


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12 Harper Cunning**

Tyrin soon discovered that teaching a half dozen children who were infected by the idiotic rivalries of their parents almost as exhausting as teaching thrice their number. However, at least from their squabbles he was able to piece together the gist of the problem.

Doccar, the headman, had taken a wife from outside the community, a trader's daughter, who gave herself airs over her position as headwoman, and treated the other women as provincials because she was herself well travelled. Tyrin strongly suspected that this was due to a sense of insecurity through being from what many would deem ill-born; but he could see that it would be galling. Eliona, the outsider, took particular delight in needling Amelly, the wife of Marcass whose family line was responsible for beast care. Most headmen had previously come either from Marcass or Doccar's lines, chosen on ability. There were interfamily marriages but had not been for two or three generations; most recent ties seemed to have been for both families with the large, but less prominent, farming family, which also had branches living out of the main Hold in cotholds up and down the valley. Tyrin had travelled downstream to warn these people about the dangers of the spring, and had found them mostly indifferent to the quarrels of Eliona and Amelly especially when it was demonstrated to them that the water had not been poisoned by either of the other families. Some had children, and Tyrin persuaded them to send them to his classes when their chores permitted; seven practical cotholder children would be leaven to his class. As it stood, he had Doccar's two daughters, Grennya and Nula, Marcass' two daughters and son, Cadlyn, Neve and Moraglin and the oldest child of the young couple from the farming family. Tual and Murel were plainly uncomfortable in the atmosphere at the Hold, and kept themselves to themselves and their little boy, Feen, was quiet and unresponsive. They were very much at the centre of the rivalry, since both Eliona and Amelly tried to win them as allies onto their side. Murel was a practical girl, however, and kept very much out of it. she was, however, aiding and abetting Amelly's younger brother Lu in his courtship of Doccar's little sister, Shina. Shina still came to class occasionally, as much to be away from her brother and sister in law, Tyrin suspected, as to learn. She ignored her nieces totally.

It was the continual fighting and scrapping between Grennya and Cadlyn that was so particularly wearing. Grennya was a particularly silly girl of about eight turns, who taunted Cadlyn with ridiculous name calling or commenting on her clothes. Eliona had brought fine cloth to the marriage as her bride price, and she and her daughters were all finely dressed. Cadlyn was not slow to reciprocate, and often name calling came to blows when Tyrin was not there to intervene. In exasperation, he made them sit apart and write out all the things a nice friend should be, then swap the slates and read out each other's before all the class. Neither wrote with facility, and the threat of repeating this exercise until both knew how to behave kept a lid on the bad behaviour. He could not help comparing them with his beloved sister Sagarra; and at a subsequent outbreak of quarrelling, he told them that his sister had grown out of such bad manners before she was five turns; and sent them to sit with the little ones, Feen and Moraglin as they were plainly no more than babes themselves. He was not proud of himself for losing his temper and apologised later to Felimmy, whom he had set to help the two little boys for wishing the girls onto him. Felimmy gave an uncharacteristic grin.

"I guess I should be the one to apologise." He said. "I see things more from your point of view now I'm helping with the teaching! Feen's scared to try in case one of those Hold brats picks on him – and Moraglin's just plain dim!"

Tyrin grinned back.

"At least he works as hard as he can" he said "And I can see you've made an improvement in him. Those two do well with your extra help. I appreciate it."

Felimmy grunted something incoherent, but looked pleased. Tyrin was genuinely glad of the help with the littlest boys; he was used to teaching those of much the same age, or at least much the same ability. Teaching youngsters who ranged in age from five to fifteen turns was a daunting task, especially when four of the cotholder boys were bigger than him! At least they seemed quite happy to accept his rank knots and accept his teaching with only the good natured rowdiness of high spirited lads. Farm boys, like fisher lads, had to learn a sense of responsibility or go hungry; and he found them refreshing after some of his more immature pupils at the Harper Hall. They could be left with lessons to study while he kept a tight rein on the Holdbound children!

hHhHh

Doccar was at least a reasonable man, frustrated by the situation. Tyrin employed all the tact he could and suggested to him that the best thing for the community would be the very public joining of the two families through his sister and Amelly's brother.

Doccar pulled a face.

"Amelly will not be happy at her brother marrying my sister."

"Amelly isn't marrying your sister. Your sister is dependent on your agreement. Lu is old enough to make his own decisions. If you are satisfied that Shina knows her own mind then let it happen. They'll leave home else."

Doccar nodded nervously.

"I agree." He said. "Then if you will officiate, we will prepare the celebrations."

hHhHh

The relief over an explanation for the poisoning had created a wary truce; it was somewhat consolidated when miners requested by Tyrin came to run tests. They confirmed his suspicions; and the mining journeyman was soon deep in negotiations with Doccar. The wedding looked like it was going to be a successful occasion!

hHhHh

The preparations were soon under way, the excitement of a wedding outweighing any unpleasantness. The miners were invited, and cheerfully accepted. Delicious smells filled the Hold as all the women put in their gifts of work to the young couple. Even the little girls were behaving themselves moderately well over the excitement of carrying flowers for the bride. Eliona had attempted to refuse the use of some of the red jacquard woven brocade she had brought as a bride robe; and for once Doccar had refused to listen to her. Shina was a favourite sister of his, and he wanted her day to be as happy as possible. Wisely, he got the aunties to make her gown to be sure that Eliona would not spoil it from malice. Secretly Doccar regretted his marriage to the lovely but ambitious woman; and though he normally went along with what she wanted for a quiet life, there were limits! He left her alone to her sulks while the wedding preparations went ahead!

hHhHh

It was perhaps unfortunate that Doccar chose to ignore his wife; for Eliona chose to whisper poison to Doccar's brothers and cousins, many of whom she easily influenced with her charm and beauty. However, nothing untoward surfaced as the wedding approached; and Tyrin was busy congratulating himself that he had sorted out the differences and had everything under control.

hHhHh

The day of the wedding dawned. It was bright and fair, with no Threadfall due, so the celebrations were to take place out of doors. The late Spring sunshine was warm and pleasant, the valley verdant and full of the promise of riches. Many of the cattle had recovered after being purged and given clean water, for the miners had known that animals needed to be given Epsom Salts to remove the poison from their bodies. The spring was being re-diverted by the efforts of the miners as they investigated and would soon be fit to drink from once more. The mine itself might not be a thing of beauty, but it represented another source of wealth in this secluded valley, and with the addition of a minecrafthold here would bring in new blood unaffected by any feuding. Tyrin was optimistic, and was happy to play before the ceremony itself to get everybody into the mood. Prism sang along with his playing, basking in the sunlight on his shoulder and enjoying the attention she got from her unusual colour as much as her beautiful clear treble voice. Tyrin was excited; He had never performed a marriage ceremony before, but his belief in the necessity for it lent the ceremony an extra poignancy. Lu and Shina were so evidently happy and in love that it came as a shock to Tyrin at what happened next.

Tyrin had just pronounced Lu and Shina man and wife when one of Doccar's cousins leapt from the crowd.

"You shall never defile our kinswoman, filthy dung-heaver!" He cried, lunging forward with a knife. With a startled cry Tyrin leaped to grab him, Prism launching into the air with a cry of alarm and disappearing _Between,_ but Felimmy was quicker, grabbing the knife arm and receiving the blade in his own shoulder! There were screams, and members of Lu's family started forward..

"Get Shina out of here!" Tyrin shouted to Lu, pushing him and her away. With a startled oath, Lu complied. Tyrin dropped to one knee beside Felimmy "Are you all right – I mean, are you bad hurt?" he asked. Felimmy shook his head.

"I'll live." He gasped through the pain. "Missed my vitals. Stop them – see to me later." Tyrin nodded, and squeezed the boy's good shoulder. As he looked up, he saw that a brawl was breaking out enthusiastically. He had to stop it – but how?

hHhHh

Suddenly he had an idea. The miners as their contribution had set up startubes, felt tubes filled with the powders they used to blast away rock and other stuff to make stars in the sky as they roared upwards. Tyrin ran over. Prism reappeared at his shoulder, took one look at the brawl and wormed her way determinedly into Tyrin's jacket. The boy settled her as he ran, and pointed at the star tubes, signalling the miners.

"Set them all off – NOW!" he cried. Startled by the turn of events, the miners were glad of direction, and set tapers to all the wicks. All the startubes roared up into the sky, bursting with a loud bang above the valley. It was enough to shock the assembled Holders into silence and immobility for a moment. It was all Tyrin required.

"Are you proud of yourselves?" He roared. "Brawling like children? Look at you!" he added scornfully. "No self control – you don't seem to want to live peacefully with each other. And over what? A squabble between two women. My, what fine men you are to be sure, that you let your womenfolk force you into fighting – and into injuring a Harper!"

There was shock at his words, and Tyrin pressed on remorselessly.

"The penalties for wounding a Harper are quite harsh – and Felimmy is a Harper although he is just an apprentice. I will consider what to do about the culprit later. But this community shares some of the blame equally. Frankly if you cannot work to get on together I will be making a recommendation to Lord Groghe on my return that all of you are split up and scattered across the face of Pern. You are giving me every indication of being unfit to handle your own affairs, and indeed almost of being unfit to live with civilised, decent folk."

Tyrin was furious, and he spoke in a tight, controlled voice, white-faced. There was silence at his threat, and gasps of horror and fear at the implied threat that he might suggest having them made Holdless. Tyrin turned on his heel and strode back to Felimmy, helping the boy to his feet and into the Hold. The silence broke into frightened whispers just as he got to the door.

"Grim." Said Felimmy. "Have you that much power?"

Tyrin shrugged.

"I don't know." He confessed. "I know that Lord Groghe will want a true report and will take a dim view of this sort of uncooperative behaviour. He's a good man, I'm told, if a little irascible at times. I'm sure he'd back me. He always backs the Harper Hall." He slit away the boy's sleeve. "I don't think we need to call the Healer, she'll be too busy dishing out Fellis to some of the more hysterical women. It's not deep. I've helped with worse." Prism had emerged from his jacket by now and sat by his side with her head tilted quizzically, offering chattering little croons as though offering up her opinion. Felimmy scratched her headpoll absently with his good hand as Tyrin said cheerfully,

"There now, soon be as good as new. No excuse to shirk gitar practise."

"You're all compassion." Growled Felimmy, wincing as Tyrin cleaned the wound and bandaged it.

"You did good." Tyrin said. "You need acknowledgement for that, not excess sympathy. And it did help being able to threaten penalties for wounding a Harper." He grinned. "For once it wasn't me – so I guess I'm grateful for that."

Felimmy grinned back.

"You're welcome." He said. "There really is a lot more to being a Harper than just playing and singing, just as you said, isn't there?"

"There certainly is." Agreed Tyrin. "And we were anticipating some danger. Just not right then." He shrugged. "I guess I got complacent. I thought we were past the crisis. It's my fault you got wounded; and I do apologise."

"There's nothing to apologise for." Felimmy was dismissive. "It was that poisonous woman I reckon. If Doccar could get rid of her, it would soon be sorted out."

Tyrin flung his arms in the air in despair, dislodging Prism. Quickly he apologised to the little creature, and added,

"But it's not that easy, Felimmy. Could you deprive her daughters of a mother? She does love them, for all her faults. It's not something that can be solved without all involved working towards a solution – and Doccar will just have to stand up to her." He chuckled suddenly.

"What's funny?" Felimmy asked.

"Just the irony of the situation – my foster mother has my foster father just where she wants him, and my sisters both try to run me. Only they do it with love, and I suppose that makes all the difference." He added soberly.

"Did you choose to become a Harper, or was it you foster mother's idea?" Asked Felimmy. Tyrin stiffened a little. From an apprentice the question was impertinent. Felimmy saw his expression and apologised. Tyrin shook his head, realising that this was an occasion to unbend.

"No, I think you need to know more. You did tell me that being a Harper wasn't your idea. I was scared at first asking my father – he is my father now, in the way I think of him – that I wanted to be a Harper, in case he thought me ungrateful. He'd been training me to follow in his footsteps, and I really didn't want to hurt him. But he was just glad I'd found something I really wanted to do, he supported me and encouraged me. My real father couldn't have done more if he'd been alive. And T'lan – my foster mother – was the same. They're pleased for me." He grinned idiotically.

"Lucky." Felimmy sounded envious. "Say what – T'lan?"

Tyrin shrugged.

"It's a long story." He said. "She likes the contraction the dragons gave her. My folks are Weyrfolk." He added, a little reluctantly. Felimmy stared in envy, and Tyrin added, "Hey, it's no big deal. Different people have different duties and jobs, huh? Like being at the Harper Hall isn't the soft option some folk seem to think it."

"You gave up the chance to Impress to become a Harper?" Felimmy was amazed.

"I had to have music. It was tough at first because I'd had no education until R'gar and T'lan took me in. I knew no theory at all. I was always in Master Morshall's bad books until I caught up!" he grinned. "You have at least got the basic grounding in the meanings of musical notation, even if some of the teaching you've received has been incomplete."

"Shards!" Felimmy was impressed. "And you caught up so quick? Still, I guess I've a lot to unlearn too. Journeyman, I know what you mean about needing music. I think I need it too – it's just the dusty stuff I don't like. Only when you explain it, well, it doesn't seem as dusty."

Tyrin was in two minds. He did not want to criticise the boy's father, but it seemed to him that the man had done everything possible to put his son off learning music, and had taught him so badly it would take years of concentration to be rid of bad habits. He said,

"I had picked up bad habits playing makeshift instruments. I still have to work hard not to do things wrongly. Bad habits are harder to get rid of sometimes than learning things for new."

"You mean my father has taught me wrong and I need to be aware."

"I don't want to criticise your father to you – but he was a little over eager, I think." Said Tyrin diplomatically. Felimmy shrugged.

"I don't have as close relationship with my father as you do with yours." He said, trying not to sound envious. "I will start again – and I shan't let what I've been told before interfere." He managed a smile. "You're really lucky – not your talent, or being Weyrbred or the things I guess most of the others envy you for. But I guess the way you talk about your family, you're so close to them. That's what I really envy you for."

"Forgive me for waxing pompous" put in Tyrin, a little embarrassed, "but haven't you considered that you've got a new family now as well as your own kin? After all, we're all Harpers. The music is a bond between us. Playing together formally and informally and enjoying our craft – all of its aspects" he grinned " – gives us a closeness that those who do not feel the music in their bones cannot understand. And when you are better trained and have overcome the resentment, perhaps you will better understand your father and be able to forgive his eagerness to give you what he never had. Imagine how dreadful NOT to be able to be a part of music!" He finished. Felimmy looked thoughtful.

"Although my father and uncles are not prevented from making music. They do play instruments and sing. But… but I guess they never got to use anything but the simplest fingering. I see what you mean. Thank you!"

Tyrin cleared his throat.

"Well, let's get back to work. I guess they'll all have calmed down by now." He changed the subject.

hHhHh

Doccar was very subdued when Tyrin went to see him.

"We've behaved very badly." He admitted. "I've spoken very severely to my wife. I told her that if she can't stop interfering, I shall send her back to her family. I also threatened to stand down as headman in favour of Marcass. I don't think there will be any more trouble."

"I hope not." Tyrin was grim.

hHhHh

The atmosphere was subdued for the next few days and Tyrin was treated with circumspection. At least the shock of harming a Harper seemed to have acted favourably on the young hothead who had started matters, and he came to apologise to Felimmy. Felimmy accepted it; and the two young Harpers tried to help the two sides to resolve their differences. In the main, they were trivial, or built on trivial bases, fuelled by Eliona and Amelly. Both women seemed to be trying to co-exist in the semblance of harmony. However, Tyrin was glad when the drums rolled up the valley with a message that a permanent replacement was on his way. He had sent in a brief report on the Hold drums, and had indicated that the trouble was largely resolved.

The new Harper followed the message very soon, and Tyrin filled him in on the situation. The Harper, Soranil, nodded gravely.

"A horrible situation." He agreed. "I don't know how I'd have handled it. I'll keep my eyes open and send off a report to Lord Groghe as soon as anything starts to go wrong. Threats have to be carried through."

Tyrin agreed; but he was glad that the business was in someone else's hands!

_A/N I've tried to give a sense of place here, putting it nearish to Ruatha by the Ruathan flavour, read derived from Irish of some of the names;Tual, Grennya, Nula and Shina for example; it's something I try to concentrate on, the makeup of an original population to add a flavour to local naming customs whilst keeping it Pernese. _


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13 Coming Home…..**

Tyrin was in some ways glad to be back in the Harpercraft Hall, and in some ways sorry to be back in a routine existence. The main advantage of the trip had been a change in his relationship with the young apprentice Felimmy; from being sullen and inattentive he had become willing and hard working. Tyrin was glad for the boy as well as from his own point of view, for now Felimmy could participate in the joy of making music wholeheartedly. Tyrin had a moment's worry for the boy when his father came to visit again, and watched covertly, but Felimmy seemed quite calm, though the man seemed to be getting irate. Felimmy squatted down and scratched in the dirt with a stick, evidently to illustrate a point, and gradually his father calmed down and started to look thoughtful; then Felimmy led him away to his own dormitory. Tyrin managed to find an excuse to pass and overheard the boy explaining a frequently misunderstood principle of fingering to his father. Felimmy had learned the self-confidence to stand up to his father.

hHhHh

Meanwhile, Kit had been very glad to see Tyrin back, indeed almost embarrassingly so. She asked him rapid-fire questions until he held up his hands to signal 'enough'.

"Great Shells, Kit, I've just been filling in until a permanent Harper could be found!" He laughed. "I've been gone a few weeks – not years! Nothing much happened. There were some unpleasant people there to be sure, but I was never at risk, so stop asking me if I'm alright! It wasn't a great experience, you know, and I'd rather not talk about it."

She gave him an old fashioned look.

"You'd dissemble if the Masterharper told you to no matter if it were dangerous or no." she grumbled.

"Well, yes, of course!" he agreed. "And in that case, you'd have no right to be badgering me with questions. As if you had the right anyhow."

Kit's face burned.

"Aren't friends allowed to be concerned for each other?" she asked in a voice suspiciously thick. Tyrin relented.

"Sure they are, kiddo." He said, ruffling her hair. "I'm just a bit private, you know? And it wasn't enough fun to want to talk about anyway. Don't cry – you'll have Master Shonagar breathing down my neck with flamer full on if you spoil your voice."

Kit managed a watery chuckle, and Tyrin gave her a brotherly sort of hug. He was immensely fond of all his old dormitory mates, Kit especially. After all, he had rescued her! He said,

"I'm glad now that you decided to come to the Harpercraft Hall instead of trying for Impression. You're a decent singer and I guess you'll do well. Shonagar is well pleased with your progress."

"And you do like having me around?"

He looked surprised.

"Of course! You're a great chap. I like the whole pack of you kids. It'll be great when you all make Journeyman and I don't have to do the aloof bit in public."

Kitiara looked at him levelly for a moment; then sighed deeply, biting her lip.

"What?" Asked Tyrin.

"You really have no idea, have you?" she asked.

"Idea?" Really, Kit did get the most remarkable bugs in her bonnet.

"It may have escaped your notice" Kitiara said tartly "But there are certain differences between me and the others."

Tyrin looked puzzled.

"Well, you started late…. But you'd had a good education so you soon caught up…you know I don't give a toss for your ranking…."

Kitiara pursed her lips in irritation.

"How about me being a girl?" She almost shouted. "Maybe I don't want to be a 'great chap' you know."

Tyrin stared at her.

"Is that all?" He asked.

"ALL?"

"You were the one who wanted to be anonymous."

"That's to other people. You've always known who I was, Tyrin!"

Tyrin sighed. What was she driving at?

"You want me to call you Kitiara all the time? Have you gone off being Kit?"

She stamped her foot.

"No of course not!" She screeched. "I just don't want you to think of me like one of the other boys!"

"Oh!" Said Tyrin. "Well, I guess I am fonder of you than I am of most of them."

Her expression softened. Tyrin added,

"I guess I look on you more like I do Sh'rilla or Sagarra."

Kit's face was a study.

"Oh, you're IMPOSSIBLE!" She cried, and slammed out of the room leaving Tyrin open mouthed and confused.

hHhHh

It did not help when Tyrin asked Master Domick what he had said wrong that the mercurial Tunecrafter roared with laughter. Tyrin looked injured, and Domick fought to overcome his helpless whoops of mirth.

"Forgive me" he spluttered. "Tyrin, lad, you're too close to the problem, can't see the dragon for the hide."

"Perhaps you'd explain." Tyrin was a little stiff. Domick grinned, and sighed, and waved the boy to a chair while he poured klah for both of them.

"I think" he said, choosing his words with care "That young Kit has, er, romantic notions about you – and the revelation that you look upon her as a sister shocked her rather."

Tyrin stared at him.

"Romantic…..you mean she….. what, her and me?" he spluttered. Domick nodded. Tyrin looked outraged. "But she's just a kid!" he expostulated.

"Maybe she doesn't think so." The Master said dryly. "Has she shown any previous signs of jealousy?"

"No of course not…..hang about, wait a minute. She used to get very silly about….about a liaison I had."

"Traysa? Yes, she's enough to make any woman jealous." Grinned Domick. Tyrin coloured.

"How did you know, sir?" he asked. Domick shrugged.

"If you want to keep your affairs discrete, don't write songs to the object of your affection on the back of other work." He said. Tyrin looked chagrined.

"What do I do about Kit?" he asked, turning the subject back. Domick thought about it.

"Well, lad" he said, "I suggest you carry on as normal for the time being without giving her too much extra encouragement nor yet hurting her by rejection. Either your feelings for her might change, or she may grow out of a childish infatuation. You DID rescue her rather dramatically, you know. And at least she handles it better than some hysterical young fillies."

Tyrin conceded that mostly Kit behaved pretty well, and at least didn't moon around after him the way he'd seen some of the girls at Fort Hold moon after their favourite swains. At least he now knew WHY she behaved so strangely; and he would make sure to be even more circumspect than usual with his affairs amongst the kitchen girls so as not to hurt her. The trouble was that he still saw her as a little girl; and even if he did not, he doubted that a gently brought up young lady would know the rules concerning mutual fun with no strings attached! Tyrin was definitely not ready to settle down yet, and had no intention of being entrapped into marriage by anyone, even someone as convivial as Kit.

hHhHh

Meanwhile Tyrin had finally managed to finish his dragon harp to his satisfaction; the bronzey wood glowed like the skin of a real dragon from the rubbing and oiling he had given it, polishing it again and again with Master Jerint's secret recipe. The tone was superb; and the Instrumentcraft Master was pleased that the boy had not neglected tone for looks.

"It's a fine piece of work." He acknowledged. "I'd be pleased with that myself. You'll be proud to play that as your primary instrument."

Tyrin nodded, a lump in his throat from pleasure at the Master's praise.

"It was inspiration." He said quietly.

"A good one. Will you be putting your old harp to sale now?"

Tyrin shook his head emphatically.

"No sir. I'll use that for day to day and with my classes. It's got a reasonable sound to it, though I can do better now. I'll make another plain one and use it then for youngsters to practice on."

Master Jerint nodded.

"Glad you're still more interested in the music than the mark making, young Tyrin." He said, pleased. "And I hear good things of your classes."

Tyrin flushed, pleased, and covered his embarrassment by making a great thing of putting his wonderful new harp in the leather bag he had made especially for it.

hHhHh

The weeks slipped by as summer came, and went. There was plenty to do; in addition to his teaching duties, Tyrin was busy with Master Domick, polishing his songs, writing others and helping script parts to some of the Master's demanding music that could be managed by voices less than perfect. It was a challenging business, for Tyrin did not wish any of the richness or feeling of the music to be lost; but sometimes he found himself having to point out tactfully that Domick was over enthusiastic for the material currently available. Tyrin himself had developed a respectable voice since it had broken, though it would never be more than adequate. At least Master Shonagar now felt him worth spending some time on, and Tyrin gave as much to learning breath control and singing as he had always given to everything he undertook. His relations with Kit remained friendly, but he avoided being alone with her. This was more for her protection than his comfort; for if anyone noticed her infatuation, gossip might put her in an uncomfortable position when she grew out of it. And she could scarcely complain that he wanted to spend time as well with Ferry and the others; Tyrin enjoyed the company of the loyal group of younger boys who brought the problems of the other apprentices to him in the fond belief that he would be able to do something about it. In point of fact, Tyrin's common sense approach to life generally meant that he was able to sort out most problems for the youngsters; quite often by making them talk through the problem until they had found their own solutions. Meanwhile, Sh'rilla had written to him to tell him that Daenilth had risen for the first time, and asking if he would care to visit for the hatching. Tyrin was delighted at the happy tone of his sister's letter and the way she was apparently overjoyed at being T'kil's weyrmate through dragonlust as well as her own love. He made the boys and Kit draw lots again, excluding Lisend and Shoris who had won before. He had invited Kister to take part in the draw, however; the senior apprentice was settling down to become really steady, though he still played the odd practical joke! This time it was Anslas and Ferry who won, and Tyrin was pleased; dynamic Ferry was his best friend of the group, and loyal Anslas deserved a treat. He had wondered if he should have included his newest friend, Sorill, but after all as the journeyman did a lot of dragonback flying, he probably had friends at the Weyr who would invite him anyway. He could not, of course, show any favouritism to any of his own pupils, so although it might have been good for Felimmy and one or two others to have such a chance, he said nothing. There would be other hatchings when they had moved on to higher classes next turn.

hHhHh

It was late morning one crisp autumn day when Sh'rilla arrived with T'kil on Shath. Tyrin gave the sort of warble of joy usually only vented by young apprentices when he saw and recognised his sister on the Bronze dragon, and dismissed his class early. It seemed so long since he had seen her at the last hatching! He ran out to the Gather Field in time for her to unloose the wheeled chair strapped to Shath's straps and slide down into his waiting arms. Tyrin swung his sister round and round, regardless of the disapproving gaze of those who did not think this the correct treatment for a Queenrider. T'kil waved down at him and called that he was just taking Shath hunting. Tyrin waved a reply as the extreme downdraft of the huge bronze wings buffeted him, only one strong downstroke required to lift one of the biggest bronze dragons on Pern. Prism flew backwards, squawking indignantly.

"Say, when did you get so little, sis?" he joked.

"About the same time you grew to manhood, brother!" She quipped back. "Put me down – you're squeezing me like felt in a press!"

Tyrin settled Sh'rilla tenderly into her wheeled chair and pushed her towards the Hall, as soon as he had introduced his little white firelizard and had permitted her to greet Sh'rilla enthusiastically.

"Hatching's not imminent then if you've left Daenilth to visit?" He asked.

"Due in a few days." She told him. "Only T'lan suggested I get you early. She suggested, and I agree, you should stand for Impression this time."

"Me? Why? I'm a Harper." Objected Tyrin.

"Yes, dear, I know, but I have this feeling. Let's face it, it makes no difference." She told him firmly. "If you aren't going to Impress, what does it matter – and if there is a dragon waiting for you, no force on Pern is going to stop it searching for you. T'bor really doesn't want any more Impressions on the tiers. Just put it down to silly female fussing and humour us, alright?"

Tyrin shrugged.

"If you want me to, sis." He said. "You know I'll do anything for you. And while we're at it" he added with some asperity, noting the dark circles round her eyes, "I hope T'kil is treating you right. You look tired."

Sh'rilla sighed, and smiled apologetically.

"It's nothing to do with T'kil." She said. "I'm fostering two of the children D're brought with him. Keeby's in pain most of the time, and Deela…" she tailed off and gulped, "Deela is not always well. Besides – haven't you noticed that I've put on weight?"

Tyrin stopped pushing to stare suspiciously at Sh'rilla's belly.

"Did he get you with child?" he asked.

"I want a baby." Sh'rilla looked mulish. Tyrin held up his hands. Sh'rilla had mostly gone along with his ideas, but he knew that tone of voice!

"So long as you're happy." He said hastily. "And aren't risking my niece or nephew by flying here."

She laughed happily and put one hand on the faint swelling.

"It's the middle trimester." She said. "Pilgra said I'd be safe to come. I wanted to come myself for my baby brother. and to wheedle your masters into letting you stand for Impression."

"If anyone can wheedle, it's you and T'lan." Concurred Tyrin readily. "I'm glad T'kil is treating you right. I kinda like him, you know."

Sh'rilla reached up and patted Tyrin on the cheek; and he took her to meet Master Domick.

hHh

So it was that Tyrin was standing on the hot Impression ground clad in the traditional white tunic, Prism chirping encouragingly from his shoulder, wondering if he was about to look a fool in front of his friends, wondering if he should even be there at all. He could see Ferry and Anslas on the tiers, and Kit as well since T'kil had said he could bring one more. Sh'rilla was on the grounds herself with the two children she was fostering. Tyrin had taken a liking to young Keeby; the boy's swollen joints spoke his pain but he tried so hard. Yet Tyrin saw in him the same anger he had had himself as a child, anger at the unfairness of life, anger at people who wanted you only if you fit their mould. Keeby was learning to trust T'kil and Sh'rilla as he had learned to trust R'gar and T'lan; and Tyrin was glad for him. Deela also seemed a nice child, but very quiet. Tyrin felt uncomfortable near her; she seemed somehow to have a barrier around her. Her thin frame seemed so delicate a breeze could blow it away; and Tyrin understood why his sister was worried about the little girl. She had at least become more animated asking about Prism; and both children had fussed and stroked the little creature until she crooned in pleasure.

The Humming increased in volume.

There was a loud SNICK! As the first egg hatched, and a little Brown tumbled out, almost directly into the waiting arms of a young weyrbred lad Tyrin knew slightly. Then there were eggs breaking left and right, most of them Blues, and Tyrin could see a look of chagrin cross the face of his old ally K'len, who kept a book on such things. He had heard rumours that D're had been winning heavily on egg colours and flicked his glance up at the laughing face of the red haired, bearded ex trader. Tyrin liked what he had seen of D're; and if he could steady the rather flighty L'rilly, it could surely only be good!

Tyrin was startled from his reverie by the sharp report of an egg cracking right beside him, and he turned automatically to the right from whence the sound had come. His eyes met the whirling, rainbow gaze of Renpeth, the most beautiful dragon ever hatched! Renpeth was so hungry though, and Tyrin could feel his hunger, gnawing at his own guts! Quickly he helped the little dragon to shed the remaining shards of his shell, with Prism giving enthusiastic aid of her own, and gently helped him walk out of the cavern. He scarcely heard R'gar call,

"Congratulations, T'rin!" as he walked in bemused wonder with his friend; then he was met by a whirlwind that was T'lan, hugging him and congratulating him. Tyrin – T'rin – grinned a big soppy grin all over his face.

"And he's even Harper Blue!" He exclaimed, realising it for the first time.

T'lana laughed.

"Welcome home!" She said softly.

Yes, thought T'rin, this was really home. He needed music, but now he had enough knowledge to continue his studies on his own, or with L'gal. And this is where his family were, where he had first been welcome just because he needed to be loved not because of who he was or what he did. T'rin raised his voice in a song of joy as he took Renpeth to eat; and he was joined by Prism and a host of other firelizards!

**The End for Now**

_A/N there will be more from T'rin and friends to come; I'm taking a break from posting and will be back with Chronicles of High Reaches on Valentine's day, and the continued adventures of T'rin and L'gal – remember L'gal? – in ' Harperweyr of High Reaches' in due course. 'Chronicles' fills in between 'T'lana Logicates' and the end of 'Tyrin's Tale'; too much overlapping, need to go and put my head in order….._


End file.
